Switched
by LolitaCupcake
Summary: "An uncharacteristic grimness overtook Oliver's features that morning. Only it wasn't Oliver, not really." Arthur wakes up in Oliver's body. Don't quite have an adequate for feel for the ratings yet, but T just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1: Waking Up

An uncharacteristic grimness overtook Oliver's features that morning. Only it wasn't Oliver, not really.

The day had begun the same as any other. The morning had seen Arthur to a freshly printed newspaper and a calming cup of tea. Arthur had made himself comfortable in an old but well made patio chair overlooking his immaculately kept rose garden, his cup and scones resting on the little round table beside him.

The man took a long sip of his tea, momentarily setting down his paper. His eyebrows knitted in irritation as his well-practiced eyes surveyed the garden. There was no doubt about it. Something was missing. Someone-or something- had uprooted a fair portion of one of his thyme plants.

He sighed, resolving to ask Mint Bunny about it later, see if any of his little friends were responsible. It wouldn't have bothered him so much if this had been the first time. As it was, he had begun to find all manner of things misplaced, if not gone all together. Ad to think, he was usually so organized.

Maybe the fairies really were responsible. He certainly hoped that, if that was in fact the case, they weren't up to any great mischief. Regardless of such suspicions, he wouldn't let his mind linger on such matters for long. After all, he had more important things to worry about. Such was the life of a nation.

Besides, he'd been on fairly good terms with most the fair folk for near as long as he could recall. The sprites had never inconvenienced him with more than a harmless prank or two, and even if a true supernatural threat were to arise, he had plenty confidence in his ability to effectively deal with it.

Maybe he had felt a little to confident, in that moment. Just a little to proud. Perhaps it was, even subconsciously, what one might have called 'tempting fate'.

Whatever the case, the morning had passed normally enough, the afternoon following in suite.

That night, when Arthur went to sleep, all was as it should be. His sheets were freshly ironed, his pillows crisp and white, his embroidered silk green blanket tucked neatly over his chest. He could hear the steady ticking of the wall clock; smell the residue of his evening tea from where the porcelain cup rested on his polished oak side table.

The walls were papered with their familiar pattern, in interchanging shades of white, and muted green and brown. Two bulky wooden bookcase lined the right wall, a sturdy green armchair trimmed with gold and old square lamp in between- making for an ideal, secluded place to read. Had the lamp been on, it would have bathed its cozy little corner in a warm, homely glow. As it was, the only light in the darkened room emanated from the city lights below.

This was the scene our good old Arthur fell asleep to. Familiar. Comfortable. Arthur felt right at home amongst the earthy hues and the musty smell of aged paper. Overall, the room offered itself a refined, if a somewhat reserved and stiff atmosphere- much like its sole resident.

Arthur didn't even have to open his eyes the following morning to sense something was wrong. Very wrong.

The man groaned groggily, teetering on the edge of awareness. Even as his dreams faded into the background, his nostrils began to vaguely register a peculiar odor. No, not the tea. Jasmine Tea couldn't even compare to the mysterious smell. It was sweet. So very, very sweet. Almost sickeningly so, as a matter of fact.

Arthur cracked his eyes open, only to be momentarily blinded. That's odd, he could have sworn he'd turned the lights off- His thoughts immediately ground to a halt, any lingering haziness dissipating with a jolt as he blinked, taking in his new surroundings.

'My door... wasn't white', he thought, somewhat dumbly, as his mind worked to process the room's more outlandish features. One of the first sights that greeted his eyes were the walls, predictably. They wouldn't have even been worth noting if they hadn't been covered with enough pink to make his head spin. Well, to be perfectly specific, pink and blue- in alternating stripes of delicate floral print. If it weren't for the garish, sharply contrasting colours, he might have thought such a design would have been fitting for the room of some sweet old lady. As it was, it just mad him feel nauseous.

The rest of the room wasn't much better, either. It seemed to share much the same colour scheme as the walls. He pushed the covers aside, and pulled himself into a sitting position.

"Brilliant. Just brilliant," he murmured under his breath, noting with a hint of disdain that the bed, while sharing a similar design to that of his own, was done up in entirely in pink and white, sheets and headboard included.

Instinctively, Arthur turned his attention to the window- only to find himself staring blindly through the blue curtains. Smog. More of it than he'd seen in longer than he cared to remember. If he squinted, from where he was, he could barely make out a couple faint shadows in the distance- but that was about it.

He stole a glance at the wall clock-a delicate silver thing- only to see find that that it was seven o' clock in the morning. If it hadn't been for the timepiece, he would have never been able to guess.

The man's rather pronounced eyebrows twitched in irritation. It was as if the room was mocking him. The window had been right where he had expected it to be. The same could be said for the bed, and even the side table or desk. Except it wasn't his room, and besides the fairly familiar layout, any similarities were nonexistent, or superficial at best.

Shakily, he brought himself to his feet- cringing just a little when he found that he was wearing, of all things, pink pajama pants and T-shirt emblazoned with a big red heart. Shaking the thoughts of someone not only forcibly moving him somewhere else, but CHANGING HIS CLOTHES in his sleep, he focused his attention on what he assumed had been the source of the sweet aroma.

There, in the left corner of the room, was a silky little dark pink loveseat holding two neat little throw pillows stitched with roses. And right next to it, sitting innocently on tiny, dainty round table, was a platter of cupcakes.

Curiously, he walked over to them and took one in his hand for closer inspection. Peeling back the pink cupcake paper, he found that they seemed to red velvet, or something similar. The icing on this particular one was blue- but just as many were topped with a bright a pink. He took an experimental sniff, before placing it back where he found it.

Arthur was by no means stupid. He wasn't just going to eat some strange food he found lying around in... Well, who knows where. Yes, that was a rather good question. Just where the hell was he? And why did it look so bloody familiar?!

Now, Arthur was no stranger to the unusual. Hell, even the supernatural hardly ever fazed him. It was no secret the he was an avid fan of the occult, and was well versed in many of the more arcane arts. But this... This was a new one. It looked as if he had fell right into the middle of some demented child's sugar induced fever dream.

The man took a deep breath, brows knitting in concentration. 'Right. First things first.' He could figure out the 'how' or 'why' later. Hell, for all he knew, it might by some sort of prank. An illusion spell, perhaps. Or maybe the bloody frog had dropped by and decided to do a little interior decorating at his expense. (The very thought of _France_ undressing him was enough to make his blood boil.) Whatever was behind this, right now, he felt he should be most concerned with the 'where'.

Arthur turned around. It was then that he saw the mirror.

He nearly jumped. As it was, he barely caught himself half way through falling backwards.

Arthur took a tentative step forward, struggling to regain his composure.

That sealed it, then. He definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore, he thought, dryly.

The man in the mirror looked like him. He had the same thick eyebrows, the same delicate facial structure, and the same slim build. Yet, at the same time, he didn't.

First off, his hair, though thankfully still blond, possessed something of a strawberry tint. He wasn't quite sure what to classify the particular hue, to be perfectly honest. It was unique, to be sure.

His cheeks were noticeably peppered with a sprinkling of freckles- which, he noted after an experimental rub, were very much real. They'd also very much not been their before, he was certain.

But mayhap the most striking of all were the eyes.

He was quite close to the mirror, now- only a few centimeters away at most. Absently, he brought a hand to its surface, verifying that it was, in fact, there.

Arthur blinked, and blue eyes blinked back. They were the colour of a clear spring sky-so very different when compared to his own emerald depths.

Oliver's face twisted into a mask of uncharacteristic grimness as Arthur stared into those eyes. The eyes of a stranger.

So lost in thought was he, so captivated by the impossibility of the image in before him, that he almost didn't hear the door swing open.

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2: First Encounter

"Yo Oliver, you decent?"

"Uh...Nu-" Arthur sputtered, whipping around to face the unexpected intruder.

"...A-America?!" He managed, at last.

Oh, yes. It was America all right. Just... different. Much like himself, really.

Arthur thought he was starting to see a pattern.

Only this time, the change was much more pronounced.

Red eyes were set in a familiar face several shades tanner than what he was used to. His hair too was darker, a deep brown almost bordering on black. He wore no glasses, save for, perhaps, the pair shades currently resting on head.

He also had piercings. Arthur was quick to count, disregarding both his ears, two at his lower lip, plus a brief flash of silver he thought he caught on his tongue. Had Arthur not ben so overwhelmed, he might have been torn between bemusement and incredulity.

Besides that, the way he carried himself, the expression on his face- it all strangely gave him the impression of someone younger.

Now, don't get him wrong... America was by no means the most mature of countries on the best of days- but this America... He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but _This_ America almost felt dangerous. Delinquent, even, like a rebellious teenager that might decide to lash out at any moment. His creative choice of accessory didn't much help to dispel the image, either.

England only stared.

The not-America raised an eyebrow, his smug smile faltering for a moment.

"Yeah. That would be me."

He cocked his head, slightly.

"You drunk, or something? 'Cause you haven't called me that, in like, ages."

 _Think. Think, dammit!_

Arthur was frantic now. This obviously wasn't his America, and he obviously wasn't his England. Just what was it he had he called him, again? Oliver? That likely meant that Not-America had a different name as well, for all the good knowing that would do.

He still had no clue what he was getting himself into. For now, however, he quickly concluded that the safest thing to do was to play along- buy some time to think things through a bit more, see what he could figure out.

And so, he grasped at the excuse provided him, however jokingly it might have intended.

"Drunk. Right. Oh yes, terribly so, I'm afraid," he laughed, nervously.

"In any case, it was awful nice of you to drop by, Ame- Alfred?"

He 'corrected', hopefully, even whilst mentally cursing himself for the slip up.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"Allen", the other nation deadpanned, eyes narrowing slightly.

"And I live here. Geeze, you sure it was just booze? Don't tell me you were taste testing a new 'recipe', or some shit," he added, with a hint of suspicion evident in his voice.

Arthur cleared his throat, forcing a facade of calm.

"Oh, no, just got a bit carried away last night- didn't get enough sleep either. My apologies if I'm not in the best of sorts at the moment," he continued, awkwardly.

He wasn't quite sure what America meant by a 'new 'recipe' and he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to, by the sound of it.

"Ya sure? Because I-"

"Yes, yes. Very much so. I'm just not quite myself, right now, you see."

 _Technically true._

"...That's all. Certainly nothing you should concern yourself over," he dismissed, even whilst ushering him out of the room.

Arthur was very much relieved when he offered little resistance. This other-America made him uneasy, to say the least. That he was willing to listen to him, to some extent, at any rate, was a good sign.

"All right, then," he breathed, letting his back sag against the door.

 _Keep a level head, now, Arthur. You've been in far worse situations before._

To start with, he began reviewing what had happened.

That morning, he had awoken to a place much like his own, yet, at the same time, inexplicably different. It was home to another America, and, evidently, another England. Yet both were complete strangers-yes, even England, if his interior decorating was anything to go by.

America, for all his differences, was still America. No doubt about it.

Truthfully, there was only one explanation that came to mind that might explain the situation.

Britain was no stranger to the multiverse theory. Keeping himself up to date with current worldly affairs was something he prided himself on, after all. Though, admittedly, he had never really given it much thought. In retrospect, he wished he had.

But you know what they said- hindsight is 20-20, and never in a million years would he have expected something like _this_ to happen. He'd simply never considered it to be of much practical use, until now. In any case, it was probably to late look into it, at this point.

Unless, of course his counterpart kept a convenient book on the subject lying around. A cursory sweep of the room and quick bit of rummaging confirmed that he, as a matter of fact, did not, or any other book at all that he could see, for that mater. Just his luck.

He did manage to scrounge up some clothes. Unfortunately, the other-England's apparel appeared to stick to largely the same theme as the room.

Finally, he managed to settle on a light pink dress-shirt, and a neatly ironed blue pair of trousers. Not his first choice of attire, by any means, but certainly better than the pajamas.

He scowled a bit as he looked himself over in the mirror, tussling his rose-tinted hair absently with his hand. He stared a moment longer. Something was bothering him. Something besides his overall disdain for the outfit. No... It almost felt like something was missing.

Arthur snorted.

Well, that was pretty bloody obvious. Where should he even begin?

 _But no, that wasn't it..._

Nagged the annoying voice in the back of his head.

Upon a further moment of silent reflection, he retrieved a blue bow tie he'd spotted on the dresser earlier.

There. That was better.

It looked to have been carelessly cast aside, probably right before the other-England, Oliver, had gone to bed. For some reason, he got the impression that he'd worn it often. It would make sense to keep it in such an easily accessible place, if that was the case. He knew, for example, that America- his America, the one who actually wore glasses- usually kept them on his bedside table, where he could easily reach it when he woke up.

Besides that, it just... Felt appropriate somehow, in a way he couldn't exactly explain.

As satisfied as possible with his appearance, he took to nervously pacing around the room, straining his mind to recall whatever pertinent information he could.

The multiverse theory. Right, that was a start. He knew the gist of it, at least, at any rate.

Supposedly, there existed an infinite number of different worlds, that shared the same physical space, yet existed on entirely different planes without overlapping, or something of the like. While the logistics were, admittedly, somewhat lost to him, he felt he understood the basic concept.

There was another thing, too. Something else he'd thought he'd heard, one place or another.

It had been something about how every time one made a decision in one's life every possible choice and subsequent outcome branched off into its own reality. Now, he had no idea whether this was indeed true, or if it was mere science fiction.

However, it wasn't like he had much to go on in the first place. Any lead he could think of was at least worth taking into consideration, he supposed.

He sighed, rubbing at his temple.

If this really was an alternate reality, the first question he should be asking himself was how he got there in the first place, and then if- _how_ \- it was possible to get back home.

He stole a brief glance at the foggy streets below.

 _Right then. First order of business: Find out as much about this world as possible while searching for away to rectify my own situation_ , he mentally listed.

For as long as he was here, such information could prove invaluable, or even aid him in finding a solution to his own dilemma.

Additionally, he still new so little of his surroundings. There was really no telling how America or the others-and there certainly had to be others- would react to the revelation he had somehow taken the place of their England. It wasn't something he was willing to bet his- and possibly the life of his counterpart- on.

It was decided then, he resolved, finally coming to a stop. He would find books. He would learn all he could without appearing suspicious. He would keep his true identity a secret, and find a way to blend in long enough to return to his world. Everything would work out just fine in the end.

Somehow.

He tried very hard not to linger long on the inherent difficulties associated with the task impersonating someone he literally knew next to nothing about, or how much worse of a bind he was likely to find himself if someone not only discovered he had taken this "Oliver's" place, but that he'd been intentionally keeping this very fact a secret.

* * *

"Whoa! All right, sheesh. I'm going already."

The door slammed behind him.

Allen slunk away, hands in his pockets, sulking.

He kicked an innocent vase into the wall upon reaching the stairwell. It broke with a resounding shatter, spilling dirt and ceramic shards in his wake. He paused momentarily to assess its damage.

 _Yep, totally worth it,_ he thought, with a brief flare of satisfaction, and began to descend the stairs.

Oliver would probably scold him for it later, but whatever. It served him right for subjecting him to one of his weird mood swings.

What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? Allen knew, perhaps better than most, just how unpredictable he could be, sometimes- even to him, who had been practically raised by the man. But this had been different.

There was something wrong with him. There had to be. It was like Oliver didn't even know him.

He balled his hands into tight fists, growing angry at the thought.

When he'd burst into the room that morning, after hearing movement upstairs, he'd thought he knew what to expect. He'd predicted Oliver to say something like, 'Oh, Allie. What _have_ told you about knocking? Really, you have got to work on your manners.' He might have treated it as a joke, or Allen might have been gently chided. Or maybe he would have just giggled like a little schoolgirl.

He'd been bored that morning, and seeing as how the other nation had apparently awoken earlier than normal, he decided, 'Meh. To heck with it,' and had gone to bug England. He thought it might lighten his mood, as well as provide the opportunity to ask him whether he had anything fun planned for the day.

Apparently not.

He didn't know what Oliver's deal was this morning, but whatever it was, it was sure ticking him off.

He grabbed his baseball bat from where it had been leaning against the wall, hitting it a couple of times against the palm of his hand.

He swung the front door open, not bothering to lock it behind him, and stepped out into the desolate, early morning street. He pulled down his shades, gripping his bat tightly in his left hand.

Allen was ready to let off some steam.


	3. Chapter 3: Musings

England pressed his ear against the cold surface of the door, listening intently. Only when he was sure that no one was on the other side, did he open it- and even then, just a crack.

Finally satisfied that he was, indeed, alone, he stepped through the threshold and into the hallway, and taking a quick inventory of his surroundings.

There were six doors in the hall; three on either side. The walls were done in plain pink wallpaper framed by white wooden paneling. Darker pink rectangular carpets were laid across the marble floor at even, regular intervals. At the very end of the hall, he spotted a small accent table sitting atop a round lace rug. It displayed a tea-pot shaped basin stuffed full of pink and red roses, that was itself flanked by two decorative china plates painted with flowers. Above that was an expensive looking painting framed in silver.

Whoever this Oliver fellow was, Arthur assumed he was at least fairly well off, financially speaking. Whether or not his own living standards accurately reflected the state of his people, however, was far less certain. The wealth of an individual did have a way of accumulating after a few centuries or so, after all, and the relationship between a nation and its personification was a complex one, to be sure.

Not everything always carried over, and it never worked both ways. A personification could get stabbed, for instance, and yet such a thing would have no noticeable effect on the nation itself, as a whole. If the nation was to be attacked, on the other hand, the personification was unlikely to make it out unscarred, regardless of whether or not their physical form was directly attacked.

Additionally, while all personifications were certainly born of a larger whole, and the popular opinion would always remain a strong influence, it wouldn't be fair to say they had no individual will of their own. They were their own persons, with the largest difference being, perhaps, the burden of their pasts. They'd witnessed much of history first hand, experienced things that textbooks simply couldn't do justice.

Again, he found himself wondering what kind of person the other-England was. What his country was like, and what had happened to make it that way. He wondered what had happened to America to have changed him so drastically, and why he was living in his house, and what exactly that supposed to mean.

Still half immersed in thought, Arthur approached the door closest to his own, and tried the knob. Locked. He'd have to remember to look for the key later.

He moved to the next door. Upon opening it, he found what was likely, by all appearances, a guest room. It was neatly kept- plain, but comfortable. There was furniture, but nothing more personal to indicate that anyone had been there in a while. Opening a few drawers confirmed that it contained nothing of interest.

The next room was a different story. It was a little messy, but not terribly so. Here and there a few shirts and other articles of clothing were strewn haphazardly across the floor, and the bed's blankets were practically twisted into a pretzel. It also smelled a little off, Arthur observed, with a slight wrinkle of his nose, but otherwise seemed quite livable.

Arthur assumed it belonged to the other America.

The walls were painted red, and scuffed a little, here and there. He wondered if he had a habit of resting his feet against them- there was one of those wheeled plastic chairs next to his desk.

The desk in question was made of wood, and fairly simple. It supported what looked like an old Macintosh, something his own room lacked, and a bowl of fruit.

Now that was a first; America, of all people, eating something not covered in grease, or else processed beyond recognition. A wry smile flickered across his face at the thought.

Next to the desk was an overly full metal waist basket. Arthur guessed that was probably where the stench was coming from.

A foot or two off from the unkempt bed sat a red dresser with a black top. Its surface was scattered with magazines and miscellaneous objects. Above it was a small and simple frameless mirror.

Arthur would have been tempted to inspect them closer, particularly the magazines, if he hadn't feared that Allen might notice something out of place, or that he might even come back upstairs and catch him sifting through his belongings. Call him paranoid, but he didn't want to risk drawing any more suspicion to himself just yet.

The next door he tried was also locked, irritatingly enough. The next one didn't offer much else of use, containing little more than table surrounded by four cushioned stools- two coloured a bright blue, the other two pink- and several surfaces laden with an assortment of china and sweets.

He was begging to seriously wonder if Oliver's diet was comprised of anything that wouldn't give a normal human diabetes just by looking at it.

After closing the door, Arthur made his way to the end of the hall. Upon turning the corner, he found himself at the top of an elegant, curved staircase.

He paused for a moment, taking in the wreckage of the broken vase. He thought he had a pretty good idea of who was responsible, assuming it's been broken recently. Carefully, he skirted around the mess, before making his way downstairs.

* * *

England awoke to the sound of birds.

 _Well, this is rather odd,_ he thought, drowsily, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

His clothes were different.

 _How terribly... drab,_ he thought, tugging at the cuff of his sleeve.

A plain white button up. How dreadfully dull.

The room he found himself in certainly wasn't much better.

"Chocolate bunny, love? Are you there?"

There was no answer.

How very curious.

He neatly slipped out from under of his covers, and stood up.

Oliver's eyes swept across the unfamiliar picture.

"Goodness,"

He hummed, tapping a foot against the floor in contemplation.

"Might I have fallen through the looking glass?" He mused aloud.

 _Perhaps if I catch the rabbit, I'll find the answer._

"Chocolate bunny? ...Other bunny?" He added, as an after thought.

"Oh, please do come out, wherever you are. I promise I don't bite~" He called out in his singsong voice, creaking open the old wooden door.


	4. Chapter 4: A Disclosure of Common Sense

_Jackpot._

Arthur had stumbled upon the living room.

Thankfully, he hadn't run into America on the way. The wrecked vase seemed to have suggested he'd gone downstairs, but so far, he hadn't found any sign the nation was still present. Hopefully, he was out on some sort of business.

As for the room in question, it had a spacious, comfortable feel to it. An electric chandelier dangled from the ceiling, and in one corner, a fireplace bearing a mantel of intricately carved wood was built into the wall. Several logs could be seen through the grate, charred from recent use. Atop the fireplace were two more painted plates, stood up on stands, as well as a row of three pastel birdhouses, each painted in varying shades of pink and blue.

More importantly, the living room also just so happened to contain a television. It was a large, boxy thing- and, quite frankly, looked out of place in amongst its candy-coated surroundings.

It sat on one of those television cabinet stands; it's remote laying on the white coffee table in front of the sofa.

Picking it up, he pushed the 'on' button.

The machine awoke with a flicker of static.

Arthur sat down, doing his best to make himself comfortable on the sofa, and spent a moment or so staring at the buttons.

As a first impulse, he turned the channel to the number he associated with the BBC. Assuming the stations here relatively corresponded to those of his own world, which was a shot in the dark at best, he hoped to catch a news broadcast of some sort.

Fortunately, he seemed to be in luck- whatever it was, it at least looked like a report of some sort.

He was moderately surprised when the image manifested itself in shades of black and white, but not terribly so. It could very well be that certain aspects of technology weren't as developed here as he was used to- the computer _had_ looked pretty old. Or maybe Oliver was just into antiques.

He could certainly believe it, given the houses apparent Victorian flare. However, if he were to go by that line of reasoning, and were to assume he'd bought the model purely on aesthetic value, he would have expected it to be more... well, fitting with what he'd seen of thus far of his tastes.

Whatever the case, that was just another mystery to be filed away for another time. Right then, Arthur was determined to learn whatever he could from the broadcast in front of him, while he had the opportunity.

"...Now, for this weeks latest string of murders..."

The host was alone in a room, without a green screen behind her. She wore an old fashioned, frilly dress, tights, and Mary Janes. Though it was impossible to tell for sure, England couldn't help but imagine the outfit was primarily pink.

She kept one leg delicately tucked under the other, a bright smile plastered to her face, not unlike the expression he might expect from a news anchor- they _were_ generally expected to keep a pleasant front for the audience.

She was currently flipping through notebook. Upon landing on a bookmarked page, she held it up to the camera. It zoomed in, focusing on the grainy images spread before it.

Despite the poor quality, Arthur couldn't help but cringe.

They were bodies, mutilated near beyond recognition, and displayed in full, grizzly, uncensored detail.

He'd seen worse, of course. He'd have been hard pressed to think of a country of his age that hadn't. But that hadn't been for a while, and he certainly wasn't accustomed to seeing such a thing on public television.

"Here pictured are a few victims among the nineteen discovered over the course of the last two days. Impressive, I'll admit," she continued, as casually and pleasantly as one might report a particularly nice day.

 _This... Doesn't bode well_ , thought Arthur, grimly.

"However, the perpetrators methods are obviously lacking in artistry. I'd venture to say that it is, beyond almost any shadow of a doubt, the work of number 50."

 _Fifty. Fifty._ Something about that particular number bothered him more than it should have, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

It wasn't helped by the fact that he was already somewhat disturbed seeing a young lady cheerfully critique the particularities of a _murder_ without seeming the least bit perturbed by the subject matter. Yes, as previously mentioned, he was well aware of many reporter's tendencies to keep a cheerful attitude, regardless of the subject mater- but this was simply taking it to far.

"Though effective, the style is quite easy to identify, and relies quite heavily on blunt force and physical trauma. He'd be wiser to mix it up a bit. Predictable people are no fun at all. As a matter of fact, it's unlikely his work would even be worth mentioning if not solely by virtue of body account. And even then, as you are, dear viewers, certainly well aware, there are far more effective ways to eliminate large numbers of people currently available. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I expect the batter to step up his game," she laughed a little at her own joke, though her giggles quickly deteriorated into a drawn out sigh.

"To tell you the truth, though, I'm almost as disappointed in the victims for proving careless enough to fall vulnerable to such brute methods in the first place. Quite frankly, I expect better of our viewers!" She exclaimed, pouting slightly.

"Sadly, I suppose to assume all of you would be worth sustaining would be an unrealistic expectation. The number of our viewers alone extends into the millions, after all."

She slammed her book shut, petulantly, only to set it carefully upon her lap, and break once more into sunshine.

"In other news, speaking of mass killings, a Japanese corporation claims to have developed a revolutionary new form of nerve gas that-"

The front door opened, and Arthur nearly jumped out of his seat.

That made the second time that day he'd been startled by an opening door, he registered, in the back of his mind. He really needed to pay more attention.

All such rational observations were immediately banished from his mind when America walked into view, carrying a bloodied bat in studded with, of all things, _nails_.

He caught sight of the back of his signature jacket, before he turned to face him. Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

Oh. So _that_ was why the number had stood out...

Bollocks.


	5. Chapter 5: Deception

Author's note: Augh! So many reviews already! I think I'm going to have a heart attack. Well, at least I know some people find my writing tolerable. It's a relief, definitely, but also a bit of a burden. I certainly don't want to disappoint any of you beautiful people! That being said, I can't really say how this is going to turn out. I'm sort of making this up as I go along, to be perfectly honest. I had further plans, but I've already kind of contradicted those, so… Yeah. I guess we'll see. This is my first fanfic by the way, so I have no idea what I'm doing. Finally, I am well aware that the characters I am attempting to write are way out of my league awesome and I'll probably end up failing miserably. But no matter. The show must go on. That being said, please do forgive, any, um, _liberties_ I might take when while portraying the countries and their counterparts. I'm far from perfect. Thanks!

P.S. Also, knowing some of my views are coming from BRITAIN is really freaking me out right now for what are probably obvious reasons. I knew I should have studied up on British slang before reading this story… Alas, I am to busy/lazy. Please pardon me for the butchering of you're dialect. ^^'

* * *

Arthur stiffened as America plopped down beside him on the couch.

The nation stretched, casually, resting his legs on the coffee table in front of him.

He also hadn't bothered to take off his shoes, Arthur observed, eye twitching almost imperceptivity.

For some reason, this bothered him more than it should have.

Heh.

Arthur knit his fingers into a nervous knot, trying desperately to calm his rapid heart rate.

The mind sure could find odd ways to distract itself from a distressing situation.

In this case, what he really ought have been thinking about was something along the lines of whether Americans were murderous in general, or whether they made a special habit of killing British citizens.

But did it really matter? Did anything really matter anymore? He was dead. So very, very dead. All it would take was one little slip up….

No!

England mentally slapped himself, forcing his mind back on track.

There was more at stake here than just his life. He had a duty uphold to his country, to his… His associates. Yes, that was it. After all, who knew what sort of trouble America might get himself into without him around to baby sit?

Even so…

The country next to him reeked of death.

Arthur did his best to put on a straight face, resisting the faint urge to gag.

America was currently staring blankly at the television, apparently listening to whatever the girl was on about at the moment. Arthur, quite frankly, didn't really care. The important thing was that it bought him some time to think.

Arthur grit his teeth, forcing himself to recall his earlier encounter with Allen.

He thought back to how the newscaster had treated bloody murder as if it were simply a game.

He brought to mind images of the house, of what he'd seen thus far of the décor, and, by extension, Oliver's tastes. Honestly, when really took the time to think about it, he found he was hard pressed to imagine a proper, composed fellow such as himself making himself at home in such a setting.

As a matter of fact, if what he'd seen from the television was any indication, he was likely downright unstable. That was, of course, assuming that this was a serious program that represented a large portion of his population, but still. He really didn't have much else to go on.

And just what was it that had stood out about the girl the most? Why, it had been the smile, of course. The smile.

Like a "knife of sugar", seemingly sweet, but ultimately treacherous. Possibly even deadly.

To put on a show of courtesy and civility even whilst preparing to stab your unfortunate victim in the back…

It wasn't an approach he was entirely unfamiliar with.

England felt a small shiver go up his spine.

Lastly, his mind drifted back towards Allen.

He'd felt cross with him, earlier, when Arthur hadn't reacted in the way he had anticipated… But now he seemed to be mostly over it. Or so Arthur assumed. At the very least, his face didn't betray any indication that might suggest the contrary.

And that was just it. Though he was quick to anger, as evidenced by the broken pottery, he was also quick to forgive- when it came to him, at any rate. When it came to Oliver.

Unstable- just like the typical teen, really. He might put on a show of being troublesome, but deep down, Arthur got the impression that he sincerely cared about him. Needed him, even.

He could use that.

If, assuming the nature of Allen and Oliver's relationship was as he suspected, beneath the dangerous front…

He began to build a persona, based solely on what little he'd managed to figure so far.

After that, he could experiment, gauge his reaction- and build from there.

"So… Feeling better now?" American asked, breaking the silence between them. His eyes were still fixed on the screen.

Just like that, Arthur was brought back to reality.

 _If he was correct…_

He forced a chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

The other nation refocused his attention on England, looking slightly indignant.

It almost sounded like an accusation.

However, Arthur wasn't about to lose his nerve.

Arthur replied with a smug smile.

"Nothing. I'm just relieved. I guess you really do care, after all…"

Damn, this felt wrong. Very, very wrong.

However, the results were as desired.

Even through the darker complexion, Arthur could see Allen's cheeks flush a light red.

"W-whatever, weirdo," he grumbled, averting his eyes.

Even so, Arthur thought he saw just a little bit of tension release from his shoulders. Good.

Really, it was almost kind of cute…

The thought popped into his head unbidden, and without warning. For a moment, his expression almost faltered.

Where in the world had that come from?

Not wishing to push his luck to far, after a brief moment of deliberation, he settled into a satisfied smile.

"I'm flattered, really I am, but I'm fine. Honest."

Allen still looked skeptical, even if less overtly so than before. At least it was an improvement.

"So, what have you been up to?" he questioned lightly, taking the initiative.

He did his absolute best to keep his inner dread from tainting the façade.

"…Besides vandalizing my property, that is," he added, half jokingly.

The slight surprise evident in America's features prompted him onwards.

"That wasn't very nice, by the way, just so you know."

He embellished his words with slight pout, attempting to conjure a similar manner to that of the one the newscaster had taken upon voicing her 'disappointment'.

America snorted in response.

"What I do on my own time is my business. As for that little _accident_ , I guess I just wasn't in the best of sorts' this morning."

He almost flinched a little at that.

He truly hadn't been prepared for such an encounter, at the time.

He still wasn't, not really. But at least he felt a little more prepared, knowing what he did now.

Arthur let out an audible sigh.

"You aren't still mad about that, are you?"

He said, sending America something close to a pleading look.

Suddenly, Arthur was hit with a burst of inspiration.

Somewhat impulsively, he dredged up a few long-buried memories of the American revolutionary war. It wasn't long before he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

"H-hey now!" Exclaimed America, with a bit of alarm.

"There's no need to cry about it," he continued, gesturing franticly with his arms.

"I mean, I wasn't really even that upset. Honest."

 _Interesting…_

This America might have enjoyed putting on a tough show, but even he had his limits. He obviously had little desire to see him actually get hurt.

It might have been sweet, if only England had been able to ignore the fact that he was also cold-blooded murderer. Apparently, he had no scruples with causing others distress, to put it mildly.

 _All the better reason to keep him from finding out the truth, then._

"Really?"

He sniffed a bit, feigning a glimmer of hope.

"Honest," he repeated.

"Even if did get a little… _Worked up_ earlier, I'm totally cool now, okay? Geeze."

He rubbed his hands through his hair in exasperation.

"Why you got to do this to me, Ollie? I'll buy you a new vase, all right? Please just stop crying," he groaned.

That was the ticket, then.

Oliver was emotional. Childish, even.

If Allen's actions were anything to go by, such a demeanor wasn't one he was unused to dealing with.

Arthur gulped.

"Okay. I… I believe you."

God, he felt so stupid.

But it seemed to be working, at any rate. The morning's previous awkwardness had already practically faded into the background.

 _I might actually be starting to get the hang of this._

He feigned another smile, brighter than the last.

Allen finally cleared his throat, turning back towards the TV.

"Seriously, though," he muttered, under his breath.

"If something's bothering you, you can always just tell me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur lied.


	6. Chapter 6: The rabbit's Game

A bit shorter than normal, I think? But meh. Here you go.

P.S. For everyone who pointed it out, I was finally able to insert line-breaks. So be confused no longer.

Arthur shut the bathroom door, clicking the lock into place behind him. He exhaled deeply, letting his back come to a rest against its surface.

He hadn't really needed to go, as he had claimed. He'd simply desired a moment to himself with which to gather his bearings.

The past ten minutes or so had been absolutely nerve-racking.

True, he'd have been lying if he'd said he wasn't at least a little proud at his performance. In fact, he'd probably handled things about as well as he could, given the circumstances.

But now that he was left alone with his thoughts, his brief rush of adrenaline fading, he was beginning to doubt.

As he replayed the day's events in his mind, he couldn't help but imagine that, somewhere, he'd made some fatal mistake, and that it was only a matter of time before… Before what?

Before he was imprisoned? Tortured for information he didn't have? Killed, even?

What was this situation? Just what had he gotten himself into, simply by waking up that morning? By playing along, pretending that everything was somehow going to work out?

Arthur sighed.

He was lucky that, at the very least, this America didn't seem… Well, all that bright.

Oh don't get him wrong. He wasn't about underestimate him, to be sure- he'd made to many similar mistakes in the past to fall into that trap. America- _His America_ \- was a prime testament to such folly in of himself.

But still, if it made him feel better, he might as well allow himself to count his blessings, and even dare to hope for the best. After all, what else did he have?

Arthur allowed himself a moment to rest his eyes. All the pink was making his head spin.

This room was possibly the worst he'd seen so far, being lined with mirrors on two sides. Together, their collective surfaces reflected rooms- rooms within rooms within rooms. Forever and ever they went, without end, coalescing into a dizzying kaleidoscope of patterns painted in neon pink and blue…

When next he opened his eyes again, he found himself face to face with the biggest shark-toothed grin he'd ever had the misfortune of seeing.

Arthur stifled a yelp, but couldn't stop himself from crashing hard against the wooden door, falling to his bum with a resounding 'thump'.

"Hey, everything okay in there?"

Came a muffled voice from the next room over.

"Y-yes. Just fine and dandy,"

Arthur yelled in a strained voice, finishing with a weak laugh as he stared eyed at the awfully familiar looking monster before him.

It was a rabbit, relatively the same size and shape as his dear friend Mint-Bunny.

Only instead of light green, it's fur was a rich, coffee brown. Additionally, rather than the downy, feathered appendages Arthur was used to, it's wings more closely resembled those of a bat.

It also seemed to be enjoying his evident distress, if its expression was anything to go by.

Arthur quickly recomposed himself, unwilling to provide it any further satisfaction.

"Salutations," it greeted, as Arthur pulled himself to his feet.

Something about his voice inspired an immediate sense of distrust in the country. Call it a gut feeling, but whatever it was here for, he doubted it anything good. And so far, his instincts had proven surprisingly reliable.

"Let me guess," he began, eyeing the creature warily.

"You're the other Mint-Bunny."

Assuming no one but him could see it in this world either, than there was really no point in hiding his identity. Granted, he could never be quite certain what to think when it came to this new world, but that hardly mattered now. It was to late- he'd almost certainly already blown his cover.

"Something like that," conceded the rabbit.

"The name's Chocolate-Bunny, by the way."

"Chocolate-Bunny. Right then," said Arthur, occupying himself with brushing some imaginary speck of dirt from his pants.

"You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with my current predicament, would you?"

"Howe very blunt of you," It chuckled.

"I like it. Fine, straight to business, then."

As it spoke, the Chocolate-Bunny hovered a little closer, prompting England to shuffle towards the adjacent wall, hoping to put a little distance between the little demon and him.

The rabbit pointed a paw in his direction; it's beady eyes narrowing into slits.

"This is all your fault."

Arthur blinked.

"Wait… Come again?"

"You heard me," it resafirmed, regarding England with a cold sort of amusement.

"It's your fault. All of it is. I was only doing what you asked me to."

It shrugged, and crossed its arms in such a way that looked quite unnatural for a rabbit.

Again, Arthur's brow creased in confusion.

 _What in the world was it on about?_

"I beg your pardon, but I don't remember telling you anything of the sort-"

"No. You wouldn't," answered the rabbit, unhelpfully.

Arthur just glared.

"Alright, maybe it wasn't _entirely_ your fault. Or even mostly," it backtracked, casually.

"The point I'm trying to make here is that you're not innocent, either, _Arthur._ "

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Snapped the Brit, struggling to keep his voice to low for Allen to hear.

This rabbit was seriously starting to try his patience.

"Oh, don't worry," it replied, waving a paw dismissively.

"I'm sue you'll figure it out eventually. In the meantime…"

He checked his own rabbit-equivalent wrist, as if looking for the time, despite not wearing any watch.

"It looks like it's about time for me to get going. Don't worry, I'll check in again in a bit. In the mean time, I'll be keeping tabs. See ya!"

"Hey wait! Now listen here-"

"Nope."

And just like that, it disappeared. Poof, one second it was there, and the next it just wasn't.

 _'Oh, and England,'_ its words reverberated in his mind, even as his eyes franticly searched for its source.

 _'One more thing. About those voices you've probably been hearing- You know, the ones that don't feel like they belong to you? Yeah. I wouldn't be so quick to write those off as the stress talking, if I were you. Just saying.'_

With that, it was finally, and truly gone.


	7. Chapter 7: Duplicity

Author's note: I swear, these chapters get shorter every time...

Oliver affectionately stroked the glossy map laid across his lap, his face a picture of gleeful anticipation.

It portrayed the world, resplendent in all its beauty. As he'd fully expected, all of the continents were still there- same size, same shape.

It was the divisions that were different, the superficial lines drawn to separate one territory from the next. That, and some of the names.

 _Soon. So very soon…_

He thought to himself.

It was only matter of time. This world was practically as good as his.

Oliver cracked his knuckles, letting out a contented sigh.

It felt good to feel the sun, to smell the air.

He leaned further into his chair, and inhaled deeply, indulging in the fragrant scent of rose, carried upon the gentle summer breeze. How very fresh it was. How very pure.

Here he was, at long last.

This world… was nice, he had decided.

Better than nice, even. But still, it wasn't perfect.

Though that was where he came in, he supposed.

Surely, with such a pretty foundation to start with, plus the added boon of his experience, all it would take was a little nudge here and there to get things going in the right direction.

So far, it was going better than he could have imagined.

It was almost if his counterpart had gone out his way just to make things easier for him.

It that was indeed the case, he would have to remember to thank him later, if he ever got the chance.

He glanced to where, at his feet, lay a tall stack of thick, musty texts. He patted the topmost volume, gently.

Most of the books looked to center around various aspects of history. He had even managed to dig up a personal diary or two. What more could he have asked for, really?

He'd have a lot of catching up to do, certainly. However, he was well convinced that, in the end, it would be well worth it.

Wistfully, he let his mind drift towards happier times.

He could hardly wait to see his dearest America, and his sweet little Canada….

Mint Bunny himself had been even more adorable than he remembered. He could only hope they'd turned out to be half as precious as the little rabbit had been.

Why, if they were half as gullible, settling in should be cinch.

Oliver took another bite of one of his freshly baked cupcakes, chewing it thoughtfully before swallowing.

 _'Oh! Britain, I was wondering where you were! I was starting to get a little worried, when you didn't come meet me…'_

Poor thing. He had hardly even stood a chance.

It was a shame, truly- but then, there really hadn't been much point in keeping him around, had there? It hadn't taken Oliver long at all to deduce that he was uninvolved in the incident.

A bit concerned, perhaps, but that was only natural. He _had_ pointed out that he'd noticed a few strange occurrences taking place, as of late, but that had appeared to be about the extent of what he knew.

Hopefully, if chocolate bunny dropped in for a visit- and surely he would, eventually- he would prove somewhat more useful.

Ah well. At least it hadn't been a total waste-he had made for quite a tasty treat, all things considered.

And, given the pitiful state of Arthur's kitchen, such an embellishment had seemed almost necessary.

Though its appliances had, thankfully, been in working order, he'd been quick to discover its stores had been sorely lacking in some of even the barest of necessities.

In fact, he'd been forced to use applesauce as an egg replacement. _Applesauce_.

What respectable kitchen didn't even have eggs?

To top it off, half of what was there was nearly expired! Had he not known better, he might of thought the kitchen had been included purely for show, and that the nation hadn't hardly cooked a thing in life...

 _Never mind_ the annoying lack of something as easily come by, or as commonly used as cyanide…

It was unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.

He shook his head, sadly.

What must have happened, to have turned him into… this?

He pondered the question, for a moment. Could it have been the same thing that befell himself, only in reverse?

As it was, being here for such a short time already seemed to be taking its toll on him, mentally. Such a sad thing, really, that such a bright world would conspire to dampen his spirits.

Even now, an odd feeling nagged at him, something almost entirely foreign to the nation, by this point. A strange sort of sinking in his stomach that stubbornly lingered far past its welcome.

And yet, somehow, every indication pointed to his alternate becoming an even bigger stick in the mud than he'd have thought possible…

All in all, he was starting to harbor serious doubts regarding the order of this particular England's priorities.

No wonder the country was in such a sorry state. Was it any surprise he'd already lost so many of his children?

At the very least, he'd managed to uncover a fairly decent selection of tea- but that hardly began to make up for it, really.

He'd have to go shopping, later. He'd positively _hate_ to make a poor impression his guests, after all.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Almost instantaneously, Oliver brightened.

Any troubles were quickly pushed to the back of his mind.

 _Speaking of the devil…_

"Coming~"

Sang Oliver, voice acquiring a slightly lyrical lilt.

He stood, carefully folding the map and setting it gently on his chair.

He straightened his tie, giving his reflection one last look over in the window before heading to the front door, a merry bounce in his step.

It was time.

Oh, this was going to be _fun._


	8. Chapter 8: A Casual Appointment

America was bored.

The meeting had been entertaining and all, sure. But now it was over. He'd cleared out the rest of his schedule for the day so he could spend some quality time gaming with Canada, but it looked he hadn't bothered to show up.

Currently, he was splayed across the couch, watching some superhero movie he'd already seen about a million times before.

That was the second time he'd been disappointed that day. The first time was when England hadn't been at the meeting earlier. It wasn't like Arthur to skip without a good reason, and it wasn't like he'd offered any warning in advance.

It just hadn't been the same without the cranky Brit.

Sure, he might have been slightly stoked for the rare chance to possibly be _right_ for once- but then, Germany was there, and, a usual, America's ideas were quickly pushed to side. And without even England's bad attempts at sarcasm to lighten his mood, it just hadn't been as fun as he'd expected.

 _So unappreciated in my time…_

The dudes just couldn't realize that when there was will, there was always a way.

Hell, there'd been a time when they'd believed putting a man on the moon was an impossible dream, or even that Russia might beat him to.

Okay, so maybe his proposal to create a giant pair of sunglasses to block out solar radiation and subsequently reduce global warming _had_ sounded a little out there.

They knew what he meant. Though his wording might not have been perfect, the basic idea had still been perfectly valid!

He frowned.

Maybe if he were a little more eloquent, they'd give him more of a chance. After all, Britain always sounded so stuffy and important when he was talking. His words always carried a weight his just didn't poses, even if what he was saying happened to be complete and utter garbage.

Except when he was drunk, that is- or really, really annoyed- but that didn't really count.

He couldn't help smile a bit at the image.

America loved it when Britain lost it.

For once, he' d manage to claim the high ground- so long as he kept his cool, upbeat attitude; it made for a great contrast to England completely flipping his shit over stupid some joke or something.

America was no social scientist, but even he knew that the best way to win with England was to really get under his skin first.

Now France was someone who had the right idea. He almost loved teasing England as much as he did.

As it was, without England, the meeting had seemed quieter than the last.

That might not have been saying much, given how they usually went, but it was enough of a difference to be noticeable.

Minus one of their most frequent attendees, their entire social dynamic had felt slightly out of synch.

Besides that, speaking of France, without England there to victimize, the nation had been 'forced' to find other targets to hit on, just to keep himself preoccupied, or whatever…

That had gotten old pretty quickly.

It wasn't like they got much done, either- not that they were used to, in the first place.

America probably wouldn't have even bothered to show up if he hadn't been expected to- or if butting into world affairs hadn't been a trademark obsession of his.

Yawing, America twisted, reaching for his cellphone.

 _Still no messages._

America popped up the digital keyboard display, and began to type.

 _Alfred: 'Dude, where ya been?'_

Wasn't _he_ the one who was always getting on his back for being late?

He stared at the screen for a moment before pushing "send".

A few minutes later, it buzzed.

Without bothering to pause the television, Alfred unlocked the screen, and began to read.

 _Arthur: 'I've been at home. Just catching up on a little bit of reading, that's all.'_

 _Alfred: 'But what about the meeting? Thought u said you could make it.'_

This time, the reply came almost instantly.

 _Arthur: 'Goodness, was that today? My apologies, America. I can't believe I let it slip my mind!'_

He'd barely finished reading the text before he receiving the next.

 _Arthur: 'Say, how about you come over in a bit? I feel just awful; I'd like the chance to make it up to you, if that's alright.'_

 _Alfred: 'Dude, It's fine. I was just curious. It's not like u missed much. An saying sorry to me? If anything, shouldn't you be apologizing to your boss?'_

 _Arthur: 'Oh, but I insist!'_

Went the following message, pretty much completely ignoring his question.

 _'I just cooked up something nice and everything. Its fine to eat by yourself, but everything tastes better with friends, don't you agree? Why waste the opportunity?'_

Arthur paused for a moment.

He reread the message once more, and cringed.

Arthur, _cook_?

Naturally, that was the first thing to jump out at him.

Sure, he'd eaten his food before- but not in ages.

By now, he was old enough to recognize what actual food was actually supposed to taste like.

It wasn't like he had anything much against England nowadays, all things considered.

But the fact remained that the nation couldn't cook a decent meal to save his life. If America was faced with some of his scones or something, he didn't want to end up hurting his feelings by having to decline, or, even worse, not being able mask his disgust. Maybe it would be better if he just stayed home…

…But then again, when had been the last time England had invited him over?

What if something was seriously bothering him? Something he didn't feel one hundred percent comfortable with talking about over the phone?

Now that he thought about it…

He scanned over the texts once more.

While he couldn't exactly say what up based on written words alone, there was something that felt… _weird_ about all of this.

Forget about when it was that England had last invited him over.

When was the last time England had used a word like 'goodness'? When was the last time he'd actually called him a 'friend'?

America absently scratched at the back of his neck, deep in thought.

Yeah. Something was definitely going on here.

He wasn't quite sure what it was, exactly, but he'd probably find out soon enough, assuming he took up the other country up on his offer.

He knew England, after all.

Though they might have had their disagreements in the past, behind all the teasing and bickering, they were actually pretty close.

Maybe not 'brothers' close, but time had done well to at least cover- if not completely heal- old scars.

If something really was wrong, it might not be to far out there for England to confide in him, America reasoned.

And, on the off chance that he actually needed his help, it was his responsibility to do something about it.

He _was_ the hero, after all.

 _Meh. Why not?_

At the very worst, he might be subjected to a couple burnt biscuits, or whatever else British people ate.

 _Alfred: 'Sure, I guess. I'm pretty much free anyway.'_


	9. Chapter 9: What Have I got Myself Into?

Arthur didn't give himself much time to ponder the Chocolate bunny's words. Keeping to himself to long when he'd promised to be back in just a moment would only lead to suspicion, after all.

Thus, he tried to file away the majority of the creature's words for further review at a more suitable time.

It was endeavor in which he was only partially successful.

After all, he was convinced that, whatever it had meant, it couldn't have been good.

"Voices in my head…"

He muttered, under his breath.

He couldn't deny that ever since he'd found himself in this other world, he'd been feeling a little… Off.

Arthur paused for a moment, midway through turning the doorknob.

He might not have used the word 'voices', exactly, but there was definitely something in there- something in him.

Something that hadn't been there before.

Frankly, he didn't quite know how to explain it- whatever it was.

Compulsions, maybe?

Odd thoughts that suddenly materialized, without warning, only to dissipate a moment later, leaving him baffled in their wake.

He couldn't help but wonder.

 _What if…_

Arthur's grip on the cold metal tightened.

He hated to even consider such a thing, even now. Despite that, he couldn't just look the other way- even if the implications were downright horrifying.

What if Oliver's form wasn't the only thing he'd acquired, upon waking up that morning?

What if…

His connection with his own country had somehow been severed?

What if he had, currently, for all intents and purposes, taken Oliver's place as this Parallel-England's personification?

If that was, indeed, the truth, that would mean that what he was feeling right then could very well be tainted by the influence of Oliver's population.

Arthur could only hope he was wrong- or, if he wasn't, that he'd find a way back before it proved… problematic.

And that brought him to a whole other set of questions.

After all, if he had taken over Oliver's body, it would only lend to reason that Oliver would have had to go somewhere himself.

He couldn't have just disappeared, could he?

In fact, maybe he hadn't ever left. Maybe he was still there, sharing his body with Arthur, subtly influencing him from some small corner of his mind.

That in itself could serve for about an equally plausible explanation as the alternative- not that that was necessarily saying much.

What was even more worrying, however, was the possibility that just as he had taken Oliver's place, Oliver might have taken his own.

He might be there, right now.

In his house. In his body.

While he doubted that a single person alone could have done any substantial damage in the short time he'd been gone, he wasn't to keen on taking his chances.

Again, what little he'd gathered on the man hadn't been exactly comforting.

He had to find a way home.

Arthur shook his head, as if the very nature of the action would be enough to dispel his concerns.

He didn't have time for this.

With a final breath, he gingerly swung open the door, and stepped through the threshold.

He found Alan right where he left him.

"Hey."

America was leaning over the sofa's armrest, head resting upon crossed arms.

"You know, we should probably get going soon," he said, sparing a quick glance at a wall clock.

"Oh. Yes, um… Right."

 _Get going?_

"Right. Of course," he regurgitated, laughing awkwardly.

Arthur's mind was sent into overdrive.

They were going somewhere. It would be an incredible coincidence, but what if…

"To the meeting, is it? Am I wrong? Sorry, my minds still just a tad fuzzy…"

"Nah, your right. Though by the looks of it, we might be turning up a little late."

Alan sent him a pointed look.

"You _are_ usually the one who keeps track of this sort of thing."

"Yeah, well..."

He began, not quite sure how to respond.

Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Heh. On the bright side, it looks like you haven't lost all of your marbles yet. Good on you for remembering… Sort of."

He shot him a toothy grin, offering him a slow clap.

Arthur got the feeling he was trying to lighten the mood, in his own way.

"… I suppose we better be on our way, then."

"In all seriousness, are ya sure your feeling good enough to go?"

He asked, face betraying just a faint hint of genuine concern.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to sit this one out…. Okay, it _might_ ," he amended, after a brief moment of consideration.

"But they'd probably forgive you, just this once. Though even if they didn't, I'm totally sure I could take 'em if I had to," he gloated.

"I could even fill in for you, or something."

In the back of his mind, he weighed the available options- before coming to a quick, snap decision.

"No, no. That won't be necessary,"

He replied, dismissively.

"After all, we wouldn't want to have to resort to that now, would we?"

By _that_ , of course, he meant being forced to, well, "take 'em".

At least his joking manner hid his inner nervousness well.

He was well aware that attending the meeting was pretty much tantamount to walking into a den of lions blindfolded.

He might have managed to fool America, but who was to say he'd be able to pull off the same with the others?

Additionally, he'd likely be drastically outnumbered, to name the very least of his obvious disadvantages.

On the other hand, not showing up at all would almost undoubtedly cast unwanted attention on him, and might even, quite potentially, ultimately prove detrimental to his health.

Was it really that much greater of a risk?

The longer he stayed here, the more likely it was that something would go terribly wrong…

Add to the fact that the occasion would also provide what might very well be a rare opportunity to learn more about this strange world.

In the end, it hardly even boiled down to a choice.

Arthur was going to the world conference.


	10. Chapter 10: Opportunistic Killer

Italy played with his knife, distractedly, as one by one the others came and took their places at the table.

Japan was already there- early, per usual.

He sat only a seat or so away, regarding the new arrivals coldly, his lips set in a familiar, disapproving frown.

Germany took his normal seat beside Luciano, without saying a word. Italy offered only a brief grunt of acknowledgement.

Lutz then proceeded to sullenly gaze off at nothing in particular.

Canada still hadn't shown up.

 _No surprise there,_ thought Italy, with a tiny itch of displeasure.

He rarely, if ever, bothered to attend. Frankly, It ticked him off.

It was quite possible that the only thing that eclipsed the irritation Italy felt at the nation's flagrant disregard for the whatever the rest of the world had to say, was the fact that, as he'd been forced to begrudgingly admit, there was nothing he could really do about it.

There was no denying that the sun had long since set on the glory days of the Italian empire.

Not like that did much to mollify the nation's rather explosive temper.

Though Luciano was by no means known for being an idiot, neither was he particularly well known for his self-control.

The only real difference between now and then was that, currently, he was far more limited in how, and on whom, he could take out his anger on.

Not to long ago, as far as nation standards went, he'd acquired a habit of attacking Germany.

However, even that had been starting to lose its appeal, as of late. After all, what was the point in fighting a nation that wouldn't even bother to defend himself?

Already, he'd practically had the man wrapped around his little finger for over a century, and counting.

He could hardly even be bothered to 'play' with Germany anymore, honestly. There was simply no challenge to it, even in his diminished state, as it were.

Besides that, he tended to be more useful to him when kept close working-condition.

Japan, on the other hand, was a different story all together.

By both economic and military standards, they were fairly close to being equals.

Italy may have been a bit rash, but he certainly wasn't a fool. Japan was off limits.

They might have worked together in the past; even at one point shared common goals.

As it stood, there relationship was fairly neutral towards one another, in a 'You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours' type of fashion- if perhaps a bit tense at times. Japan _did_ like to make it explicitly clear that, unlike Germany, he wasn't one to be trifled with.

And then there was Canada. The no-good no-show.

A reclusive, fiercely independent country that might as well have lived an entire world apart, he was practically untouchable.

Italy loathed him for it.

Few had ever tried taking any openly aggressive action towards the nation. Even fewer had made it out of such an attempt unscathed.

Overall, most had come to agree that it was best to just leave him to his own devices.

'Let him keep his frozen wasteland. It's not like he causes any real trouble,' seemed to be the general verdict.

It wasn't a decision that entirely satisfied Italy- or, he suspected, Mathieu's former caretaker.

But then, as he well knew, trying anything was pointless. He was lacking allies as it was. The last thing he needed was more enemies.

He sighed, tracing a long cut across the polished wood.

Germany would just have to do.

 _That's right… Speaking of his caretaker…_

He thought to himself, counting off the present attendees in his head.

 _Russia, check. China, Japan, Germany… Even France…_

Where exactly was England, anyway?

Now that was interesting. Oliver, late?

 _How very unlike him._

Allan, he might have been able imagine- but then again, he scarcely ever saw the two apart either, so he couldn't really compare.

It seemed that China was thinking something similar.

"Hey. Where's Opium at?" He asked, crossing his arms with a frown.

"Who cares," muttered France, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he spoke, sounding just as apathetic as ever.

The corners of china's mouth twitched slightly, scowl bordering on a grimace.

 _Of course that would bother him,_ mused Italy, with a subtle roll of his eyes.

 _Freaking addict._

No sooner had the words crossed his mind, did the door swing open.

"Sorry we're late, "apologized America, not looking sorry in the slightest.

"Ollie here was feeling a bit under the weather."

All heads turned to the newcomers, some quicker than others.

Luciano leaned a back in his seat, trying to catch a better look at England.

It was almost as if he was cowering behind Alan, baffling enough as it was.

Though he tried to hide it, it was obvious he was worried about something- _scared_ even.

Italy analyzed Oliver's paper-thin façade with a mixture of confusion and piqued fascination.

 _Hmm… Now, what do we have here?_

He watched as Oliver followed Allen into the room, making sure to stay well within a close proximity of the other nation.

Feliciano folded his hands neatly under his chin. He couldn't help but break into a slight grin.

Fortunately, this just seemed to unsettle the man even more.

He did a quick scan of the faces of the room, wondering if he was the only one who'd noticed.

Evidently, he wasn't.

China raised a single inquisitive eyebrow, but otherwise kept is thoughts to himself.

France looked as disinterested as always, and Russia offered no comment, non-verbal or otherwise.

Kuro, however, tilted his head ever so slightly in his direction, flashing a stealthy, but meaningful look Luciano's way.

He glanced at Lutz next, who offered a stoic stare in return.

It didn't say much of his own opinion- if he had one- but it was plenty enough to let Italy know that he'd be willing to go along with whatever he thought was best.

 _This ought to be interesting,_

The nation thought, smugly.

 _Now, Oliver... Just what exactly are you hiding?_


	11. Chapter 11: Just a Taste

Alfred rapped his knuckle against the door a couple of times, in quick succession.

He waited.

The door opened with a click, revealing the beaming face of a familiar Brit.

"Alfred!" The man happily exclaimed.

"How lovely to see again! Please- Come in, come in!"

Alfred didn't even have the time to formulate an intelligible response before being practically pulled inside.

"Whoa!"

Managed Alfred, stumbling once before catching his balance.

"Dude. What's got you so worked up?"

"Oh, just the usual," he answered, offering a small, ambiguous smile in return.

Even as he spoke, he appeared to be making a conscious effort to contain his excitement.

Alfred blinked.

"Uh, alright,"

He said, growing more confused by the moment.

"And by that you mean…?"

"Why, absolutely everything!"

England replied, clasping his hands to his chest.

"The birds, the sky- Why, I can't remember the last time I've seen such a beautiful day. Then, of course, there's you and Canada-"

Alfred cut him off, midsentence.

"Wait. Hold up. Canada's here?"

He asked, incredulously.

Last he'd checked, England hardly even remembered Canada existed- much less made a habit of inviting him over for meals.

"But why… where… Huh?"

The perplexed look on his face spoke volumes.

"Tsk tsk. You know, it's very rude to interrupt,"

Scolded Arthur, sending him brief an admonishing look, before breaking into another smile.

"But that's alright, love. I forgive you,"

England went on, all but ignoring his unspoken question.

Alfred had to resist the sudden urge to pinch himself.

Just what was this? Was he dreaming?

 _Who are you, and just what have you done to the real Arthur…?_

England suddenly spun on his heels, hurrying off in the direction of the dining room.

Unsure what else to do, Alfred followed.

"But no, really man,"

Persisted Alfred.

"Are you _okay_? What's-"

Alfred nearly stopped in his tracks.

"Did you… Make this?"

America stood, awestruck, as he goggled at he selection of sweets laid on the counter before him.

Never in his life had he beheld such a delicious looking assortment of cupcakes.

There was enough there to span the entire spectrum of the rainbow- and then some.

Each one was decorated in such a way as to be considered a work of art in their own right, and many were topped with cherries, or shredded chocolate, or other such delectable additions.

The smell alone was enough to start his mouth watering.

"Like… for real?"

"Of course, dear,"

Answered the man, pleasantly.

"It took me while to get everything together- but, for you, I wouldn't except anything less than the very best."

America took off his glasses, giving his eyes an experimental rub.

Yep. Still there.

So… He wasn't hallucinating?

"… Is this some sort of prank?"

He asked, eyes darting from one corner of the room to the next, as if he expected to find someone there, waiting for just the right moment to jump out of hiding.

"Now, what would make you think that?"

"Well…"

He began, a little awkwardly.

"It's just…"

"Just what?"

Inquired England, innocently.

 _Your food… Usually doesn't look like food, man,_

He might have said something along those lines, on any other day.

On any other day, he'd have probably have taken the opportunity to tease him a bit- in a friendly sort of way, of course.

But something was off about Arthur, today.

Something was different.

He hadn't seen the man smile- _genuinely_ smile like that, since, well…

Since before he'd become independent.

He abruptly realized that he didn't want to do anything that might tarnish that that smile, even a little.

"…Um, Nothing. Yeah. You just seem… _Happier_ than usual, I guess."

He took another look at the cupcakes.

"Did something happen?"

"My economy's been doing pretty good lately. Maybe that has something to do with it," He suggested.

"Has it? Sorry, I haven't been paying that much attention,"

He mumbled distractedly, scratching his head.

 _Bullshit._

That didn't even begin to explain half of what he was seeing.

"Well?"

Said Arthur, eyeing America expectantly.

"Aren't you going to try one?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure, man,"

He responded, after a moment, reaching for one of the sweets.

"Okay."

The one he'd chosen was plain white and covered in blue sprinkles, perhaps the simplest of the batch.

He gulped, and brought it to his nose, taking a tentative sniff.

It smelled normal enough, anyway.

Great, even.

It sure looked nice, too.

Could it really be that bad?

 _Than again,_ he considered

This _was_ England he was thinking about…

If anyone could find a way to screw up something that looked so tasty, it was him.

America took a deep breath.

Bracing himself for the worse, he took a bite.

Then another.

"Mmf! Hey, his is actually pretty… pretty good..."

 _…Huh? What is… this?_

He wondered, vaguely.

His thoughts slowed. The world started spinning around him.

He felt like he was moving through maple syrup.

His balance began to falter.

 _Why do I feel so… so sleepy…?_

Alfred toppled to the ground with a loud thump.

The last thing he registered was Arthur, leaning over him, and smiling broadly from ear to ear.

"Nighty night…"

Then everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12: Revelations

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, two people lost someone they held dear.

For just that moment, the worlds drew a little bit closer.

The rabbit took notice.

The rabbit had been watching for a long, long time.

Long before either of the two men had even been born.

In all this time, the rabbit had never seen such a perfect opportunity.

For you see, the rabbit was as old as the Earth, old as the sun.

The years weighed heavily upon the creature's soul, twisting and breaking it until it was only a shadow of what it once was.

The rabbit now sought stimulus in whatever it could.

Just to feel again. That's all it desired- simply to _feel_.

It was a thing most took for granted.

How tired it was. How very weary.

So it was that Rabbit presented itself to the first man.

This man was foolish, but not so very foolish as the second, the rabbit knew.

So it was that the rabbit offered him a deal.

First, he offered him a world where his most precious person still belonged to him.

Secondly, he offered to take the pain away- to erase what had been, and allow him to start anew.

The man wisely declined the second offer, proclaiming that his sorrows were his alone to bear- and bear them he would, as an eternal reminder of his mistakes.

But to the first, he foolishly agreed.

Next, the Rabbit appeared before the not so wise man.

First, he offered him a world where his dearest was still his own, just as he had the first man.

Secondly, he offered, once more, to erase all the pain that ailed him.

The man took him up on its first offer.

For the second, he practically begged.

The rabbit found it disgusting.

But the rabbit, being honorable to its word, kept its end of the bargain.

The man was reduced to a blank slate, a hollow shell.

Upon arriving in his new home, he was molded into what the world had lost.

Thus, the empty gap was filled.

As a result of his foolishness, however, the previous emptiness in his heart was replaced with a different yearning- a yearning for what he once had, yet traded for what he'd lost.

The other man, however, even as he embraced his new role, held onto his suffering. He let it fester and grow over the centuries, until it, along with the world, gradually warped him beyond recognition.

In time, it became an obsession that devoured him from the inside out- a final, corrupted, vestigial reminder of what he once was.

Eventually, he came to realize that the fantasy he'd acquired could never fully replace he'd once had.

And so his yearning continued to grow, ever greater.

The rabbit took notice.

As he had, so long ago, rewoven the fabric of space, so to could he restore it to its former pattern.

And so, the rabbit, once again bored, set things back to their proper place, and sat back to enjoy the show.

* * *

Arthur felt eyes from him on all sides as he entered the dimly lit room.

A sudden wave of claustrophobia washed over him as he took his seat by America.

There he was, at last.

Not counting Alan, the people surrounding him seemed to come in two main flavors; those who looked like they wanted to eat him alive, or those that couldn't care less what happened to him.

Italy fell neatly into the former category.

He supposed he really shouldn't have been that surprised, after all he'd seen.

Still, it fell so very odd to see Italy's features twisted into that sort of expression.

The warm, honey coloured eyes of the Italy he'd known had been replaced by cold twin, violet orbs. They were watching Arthur intently, following his every move.

England felt himself wither under his gaze.

A sly smile tugged at the man's lips.

"Now that we're all here," he began, gesturing meaningfully at Arthur,

"Shall we finally begin the meeting proper?"

Italy went first, rattling off a couple insignificant figures.

After that, each nation took their turn saying their piece.

It seemed they were expected to begin with a brief update on the status of their respective land.

France came after Italy.

He kept what he said short, and to the point.

While his country didn't seem to be in the best of sorts, he didn't particularly seem to care- despite its fate being intrinsically linked to his own wellbeing.

The man himself looked bedraggled and worn well beyond ware- almost he exact opposite of Arthur's France.

His hair was messy and unkempt, tied back in a sloppy ponytail.

His dress shirt, for all Arthur knew, might not have been washed for weeks. It looked like he'd slept in the thing.

Overall, he reeked overwhelmingly of smoke and alcohol.

Though he'd appeared to have enough decency not to show up at the meeting carrying an intoxicating beverage, it was easy enough to see where cigarette smell had come from.

Such a thing would have never been allowed back home, not in this day and age.

And so, one by one, the nations went through the motions.

It went fairly quickly.

Russia's statement was almost certainly the shortest.

The man would have resembled Ivan perfectly if it weren't for his auburn hair, and frayed red and black coat.

His demeanor, however, was just as stark a change as any of the others.

"Nothing has changed. Nothing that would concern you. "

He sat down, after that, without another word.

No one seemed particularly concerned by this.

In general, while Arthur might not have fully understood everything that was being said, he tried his best to glean what little he could from the experience. He did note, with a bit of interest, that both Japan and Italy's uniforms bore more than a little resemblance to some of those worn during World War 2.

But, when all was said and done, from what he could tell, this meeting was mostly just a formality.

Overall, it was pretty obvious that the countries harbored a fairly intense mistrust for one another.

Though that did, unfortunately, mean that his chances of learning anything useful were more diminished than he'd initially hoped, it was a relief, all the same, that he probably wouldn't be forced to go into any great amount of detail when he, himself, was forced to talk.

Not that, when his turn finally did come, it made it any less terrifying.

He'd have to make something up, and it would have to be something believable.

He stood, opened his mouth, and began to speak.

* * *

It felt like he was drowning…

 _What… time is it…?_

His body… His eyes… Everything felt heavy…

Numbly, he opened them, just a crack.

He could hardly move. He could hardly even think.

It was incredibly tempting to simply let himself drift back into sweet unconsciousness.

Yet something about that voice… It was familiar…

"Cana…da?"

He mumbled, teetering on the edge of awareness.

"…America!"

Alfred groaned, willing himself into a sitting position.

Half way through the attempt, he felt a gentle hand grab him from under the arm, steadying him.

"Thanks bro…"

He slurred, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

In the gloom, he could barely make out Mathew's face in front of his own.

"Where… Where are we?"

"England's basement… I think."

It was all coming back to him, slowly.

"He fed my something… Sweet… and now…"

Somehow, the name escaped him at the moment.

"The cupcakes," Canada supplied, sympathetically.

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

There was something in his voice that, in his current state, America wasn't quite able to identify.

Canada sighed, kneeling beside his brother.

"Don't worry. It will wear off. Eventually,"

Mathew assured him.

"I only wished I'd realized it sooner… "

"What… What do you mean? How could you…?"

"Shhh…You don't have to speak. Just listen. I..."

Canada took a deep, shaky breath.

"I'm sorry, America, but I haven't been… completely honest with you."

* * *

The rabbit watched from his favorite place, between here and there, as the second man entered a dimly lit room, filled with monsters in human form.

Though they didn't look it, they were beings that were closer to him than any creature of flesh and blood.

They weren't so great. Nor were they as wise.

But neither were they mortal.

They were nebulous beings, more concept than person.

Insubstantial. Vague personas born of such things as collective identity.

Yet undeniably, and insurmountably great.

The destinies of thousands were written in their blood.

Even they did not realize their full potential.

A part of him hoped they never did.

Another part desperately wished to witness what such chaos would unleash upon the universe.

After checking on the second man, earlier that very day, he had returned to the first, not long before the arrival of his second guest.

He took it upon himself to confirm the first man's suspicions.

Yes. He was there to stay.

The man had been overjoyed.

The world he'd returned to was very different from the one he'd left behind.

It was almost like a fresh start.

This time, he had told the rabbit, he would make things right.

He'd promised to put on quite the show while doing it, as an added bonus.

This was why rabbit liked the first man.

This was why he liked playing with the worlds.

He'd spent the past few centuries experimenting, trading one thing for another, or even taking bits and pieces without replacing them at all.

He was testing the waters, seeing just how far he could go before he to greatly upset the balance.

While a shoelace or button, here or there, hardly mattered, the world reeled at the loss of a person- even worse at the loss of a _nation._

Thus it was imperative that the exchange was one of equivalence.

The two England's could not meet- at lest not in the same place.

Such an event would harken the very unraveling of space and time itself.

This the bunny knew.

And so it was that, when he returned the first man to his own world, he was forced to fill his spot with the second man.

He knew it would be an inconvenience, but he didn't care.

The rabbit didn't even bother to restore the man's memories- he'd never much cared for the original Oliver, anyway.

Besides, wasn't it more entertaining this way?


	13. Chapter 13: A Rabbit's Return

"Things are going much the same as always. I did make some cupcakes earlier,"

He added, thinking back to the batch of sweets in his room.

He desperately hoped it was something Oliver would say.

"Besides that, it's been… dreadfully boring, really."

Thankfully, it seemed his intuition had proved correct.

 _Definitely childish_ , he reaffirmed, for his own benefit, silently.

It was something he'd have to keep in mind.

Though most, on the surface, appeared satisfied with his answer, Italy's discomforting smirk still remained.

"Are you sure? I was certain America said something about you 'being under the weather'…"

 _Bloody hell._

He just had to bring that up, hadn't he?

"Ah, yes. About that… "

He went on, stumbling slightly over his words.

"I really can't say. I honestly don't know what came over me," he answered, putting on a bashful front.

"'What came over you'?"

Italy raised a singular eyebrow.

Arthur could have bashed his head into the wall, in that moment.

"I… uh… had a little to much to drink. That's all," He ventured, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

"Wait… Since when do you drink?"

Asked China, breaking into the conversation.

"…Dude does have a point, there. You do know I was just joking with you, right?"

 _No. Not good, not good at all…_

Even America was questioning him, now.

"… And you're saying _you_ weren't?"

Joking. He'd grasped at the excuse provided him, and America thought he'd been joking.

He'd gone on as always, respecting him enough not to pick at the real reason behind his perplexing behavior.

It was only dumb luck he'd managed to get away with this stupid farce as long as he had.

"It's precisely because I don't normally drink that it had such an effect on me. I thought I'd give it a try, this once. All right? In any case… I fail to see what makes this any of your business…"

He insisted, weakly.

This had been a horrible idea.

It had been the absolute height of arrogance to think he'd be able to pull this off.

"Cut the act, Oliver. You're not fooling anyone. Tell me,"

Said Italy, smoothly, voice full of venom.

From where he sat across from him at the table, he leaned a little closer, still twiddling his knife.

"What's _really_ going on here?"

Arthur shot America a pleading glance.

"Oliver, calm down," He said, attempting a reassuring gesture of his hands.

Then he stood up, turning, only to glare daggers at Italy.

"Hey, that's enough. Can't you see this is upsetting him?"

"All I want is a straight answer," replied the other nation, coolly.

"It's not a big deal," protested Alan.

"If It's not a big deal, than why is hiding it?"

"Italy-san does make a valid point," Interrupted Japan, arms folded across his chest. His crimson eyes narrowed.

"What makes either of you think he's hiding _anything_?! Maybe he just had a bad day!"

"That's got to be the dumbest thing I-"

They argued back and forth a bit, voices steadily rising in volume.

All Arthur could do was stare numbly at his lap, and pray for a miracle.

Finally, America whipped around, turning his attention back to England.

"You should really just tell him, Oliver," Contended Alan, voice laden with frustrated exasperation.

"Get it over with. You know the bastard's not going to let you get any peace otherwise."

All faces turned to him, expectantly.

That was it, then.

He might as well just give up.

There was nothing else he could do.

"I… I…"

He began, the words catching in his throat.

Just what was he supposed to say?

"I…"

"England!"

Just then, he was interrupted by an achingly familiar voice.

For there, right in the middle of the room, had materialized Flying Mint Bunny.

* * *

Mint Bunny should have never let that other England sneak up on him like that.

But then, it was hard not to let down your guard when confiding in a friend you'd known for countless centuries.

Besides that, how was he supposed to know he'd had a knife hidden behind his back?

At least he'd learned from his mistakes.

Kill me once, shame on you. Kill me twice, shame on me.

It hadn't taken Mint Bunny long at all to work out that something was seriously wrong.

He though he had a pretty good idea who was behind it, too.

Luckily for Mint Bunny, he just so happened to be a trans-dimensional being comprised of energy. Losing one of his physical forms hardly mattered.

He'd simply have to craft a new one.

All the same, after that little incident, he'd been more cautious. He hadn't revealed himself to this other England since.

He'd still been there, though.

He waited, and he watched.

What he saw scared him.

Yes. Chocolate bunny was definitely behind this.

Oh, how he wanted to help those poor, unfortunate children. How he'd wanted to scream at them to run, _run before he gets you._

But he couldn't. He didn't dare make any direct movement against Chocolate, not yet. Not until he found a way to rescue England.

He hated to think of what Chocolate might do purely in the name of teaching him a lesson, while he was all but helpless to stop him.

Chocolate had told him before, and would doubtless tell him again.

He'd tell him that his foolish attachment to creatures unworthy would someday prove to be his downfall.

Yet still, he watched.

Of one thing he was certain. This England wasn't the same England that had been there the day before.

So far, throughout the course of his existence, Mint had made a concentrated effort to stay out of Chocolate Bunny's way. No use picking a fight where one could be avoided- he's lived his life by those words. Mint Bunny was a creature that valued peace.

But this… _This_ was crossing the line.

England was a true friend.

That was something that was hard to come by, especially when you were Mint Bunny. But England had embraced him wholeheartedly, from the very first day he'd introduced himself, and onwards.

He was determined to get England back, if it was the last thing he did.

And so, he began. Quietly, at first.

Sifting through what was, for lack of a better term, the code that comprised the universe, he picked out any obvious alteration he could find.

He started with a missing comb of England's, and worked his way back from there.

The deeper he went, the more tangled the threads became.

It was only then that he began to see the true depths of the other's machinations.

The bunny was filled with shame to see all that had transpired under his very nose.

It was his duty to maintain the balance.

How could he have let such a threat gone unchecked for so long?

But none of that could ever amount to the strength of the emotions that overwhelmed him when, finally, he reached the end of the last thread.

 _Oh, Chocolate… How could you do this?_

Everything came together.

He knew where England was. His England.

And he knew that he didn't belong there.

Truly, he didn't belong anywhere. Not anymore.

This hadn't been the first time Chocolate Bunny had taken England.

This hadn't been the first time he'd meddled in matters beyond his authority.

 _England…_

Bunny's newly formed eyes began to water.

 _I'm so sorry, England…_

Helping him now was beyond his power.

England couldn't come home without the other taking his place, and he highly doubted Chocolate bunny would let go of other-England so easily.

Still, the very least he could do was pay him a visit- try to ease his confusion some.

Now that he had a general idea of where he was, the bunny could pop over whenever he wanted.

Maybe this would work out somehow.

Maybe they could still be friends…

Somehow, he doubted it.


	14. Chapter 14: Crazy Enough to Work

No sooner had he appeared then did the room dissolve around them, dissipating in a smeared blur of colour and noise.

Next thing he knew, he was standing in what appeared t be a dark alleyway.

"Wha- Mint Bunny!?"

England sputtered, as he struggled to regain his bearings.

The rabbit's eyes were brimming with worry.

"Oh, England! Are you all right? I thought you were in trouble so I came as quickly as I could but I didn't know you were in the middle of something and now you're probably in trouble and I'm sorry!"

The rabbit babbled franticly, going about a million miles per second.

"Mint. It's all right, calm down. You didn't do anything wrong."

In fact, his timing had downright been impeccable.

He didn't think he'd ever been so relieved to see the bunny before.

After all, he might not have made it another minute in that room if it hadn't been for his intervention.

"I'm pretty fortunate you came when you did."

England straightened, taking in his surroundings.

Moldy bricks encompassed him on either side.

The air was rank with mildew, as well as other, less identifiable smells.

"…We're still in… you know… Aren't we?"

He asked, a tinge of disappointment colouring his voice.

Mint Bunny's face fell at Arthur's words.

"Yes. I'm really sorry Oliver, but-"

"Wait," Interrupted Arthur, cutting the rabbit off midsentence.

 _Huh?_

His brow furrowed.

"'Oliver'?"

A look of realization flashed across the Bunny's features.

"That's right. Chocolate bunny really hasn't told you anything, has he?"

The rabbit muttered.

"…Told me what?"

Arthur asked, growing increasingly confused.

A strange, sinking sort of dread was beginning to grow in the pit of is stomach.

"I'm sorry, England," said Mint, flying a little closer.

His expression looked pained.

Arthur took a subconscious step backwards.

"But you won't be able to survive here for long without knowing."

"What in the world are you talking-"

The rabbit touched him.

And with that, the world came crashing in on itself.

Arthur froze, time grinding to a halt.

For a moment, there was only silence.

England fell to his knees, legs giving way under his own weight.

He stared intently at his hands, as if they'd suddenly become the most fascinating things on Earth. His was distant, as if he was looking through them, rather than at them.

"…England? Are you-?"

Then he broke out laughing.

"You got… to be... KIDDING ME,"

He managed, breathlessly, between fits of giggles.

He bent over on himself, gripping his stomach.

"England?"

Mint Bunny asked again, hesitantly.

"Are you still all right?"

Arthur- No, _Oliver_ held up finger.

"Wait… Just… Give me a moment," He choked, giggles giving way to sobs.

He swallowed.

…

"Nope. Still not okay. Forgive me a slight existential crisis," He concluded, with mounting hysteria.

Was this someone's sick idea of a joke?

Countless scenes replayed themselves through his mind, the images still burned fresh into his retinas.

"Ugh…"

He moaned.

His head was killing him.

He thought was going to be sick.

"So…"

He began, forcing a deep breath.

He was not going to cry. Nope.

Definitely wasn't going to cry.

"So," he repeated.

"I'm… who am I again?"

"Oliver," provided Minty, softly

"Right, right," England mumbled, rubbing at his temples.

 _That does it, then. I've officially lost it._

 _Oh well._

 _Might as well just play along._

"Oliver. Whole life a lie. Got it," he finished, numbly.

Suddenly, he jerked his head upwards, looking at Mint Bunny imploringly.

"So. What now?"

Never in his life- either of them-had he felt so completely, and utterly lost.

"…I don't know," admitted the rabbit.

"Isn't there anywhere you can go? I'm sure you have people that care about you…"

Oliver shook his head.

"If it's quite alright, I'd like to go… home. I've already… I don't know how long I'll be able to last, in a place like this- memories or not. Especially not after that little… Episode."

Now that he thought about it, randomly disappearing in front of a bunch of nations probably hadn't done much to help his situation, in the long run.

Mint Bunny's ears drooped, ever so slightly.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, England… But I can't do that," he apologized, tears picking at the corner of his eyes.

"…And why exactly not?"

After another moment of consideration, he added,

"It's not like this really changes anything, does it? I'm not planning on going on any psychopathic rampages, if that's what you're wondering."

What might have happened in the past could stay there, after all. As a country, he was no stranger of being ashamed for deeds already done.

His time living and adapting as 'Arthur' had offered him a fresh perspective on the value of life.

He might have been as mixed up as all fudge, right then, but he could decide on that much, at any rate. The only thing he could hope to do now was move on.

"It has nothing to do with you're memories, Oliver."

England flinched just a little, at the use of _that_ name.

"It's just that… You've seen Chocolate Bunny, haven't you? Wait- Yes, silly me. Of course you have," he reminded himself.

"He's the one behind this. The thing is, he's not going to let go of Arthur so easily."

"That's a problem?"

Flying Mint Bunny nodded.

"I'm afraid so. Long story short, as long as he's there, you can't go back. Doing that would likely cause irreparable distortions. It's simply to risky."

Oliver took a few seconds to mule over this new information.

"And you're absolutely certain of this? That if Oliv- _Arthur_ ," he corrected.

"…And I are both present in the same place, really bad, irreversible things will happen?"

"About 99% certain, yes."

"What about the one percent?"

"Well, I'm not really an expert on this sort of thing," Minty conceded, with a hint of uncertainty.

"But if it was only for a little while… Well, I _might_ be able to fix it. It _can_ take time for a vacuum to collapse in on itself. Just where are you going with this?"

"To me, the solution seems simple," Began Oliver, getting to his feet.

"Chocolate Bunny wants a show, right? You know how to contact him. How about we make a little deal."

"What sort of deal?"

Mint Bunny asked, curiously.

"It has to be something it'll go for. I'm still working out the details, but… I think I have an idea."

It was a stupid plan, to be sure. But it just might be the sort of the thing that would appeal to the Rabbit's twisted mind.

"Mint Bunny. Here's a question. How concerned for the fate of the universe do you think Chocolate Bunny really is?"


	15. Chapter 15: In the Basement

Author's note: Okay, so someone in the comments was really confused, and I couldn't respond to them directly. You know, because they weren't logged. I guess that's to be expected, considering how out there this story is becoming. I tried to make in pretty explicit, but just in case you didn't get it, I'll give you a brief synopsis:

First off, the reason chocolate Bunny is doing all this is pretty much purely for entertainment purposes. In this fic, he is god-like being that has been alive for pretty much ever. Living that long can get pretty boring, so he's developed a habit of messing with what he considers 'lower life forms' as a form of entertainment, without really having much regard for how it effects their lives on a personal level.

Secondly, yes, the England we thought was Arthur at the beginning is actually Oliver. The rabbit originally noticed, hundreds of years ago, that both England's happened to be experiencing pretty extreme emotional distress at the same time, and decided to take the opportunity to have some fun.

Oliver was freaking out because he lost Mathieu; in his world, Canada was his favorite. Meanwhile, in our world, England was left broken after America left him during the revolutionary war.

In Oliver's world, he still had Canada, but had lost America, his lesser favorite. The opposite held true for England, at that time. Chocolate Bunny offered to let them switch places, so both could gain what they truly desired.

However, that didn't work out to well for them.

Arthur kept his memories even after taking Oliver's place. Long story short, he pretty much embraced his new identity and name, wanting a new start. Although he was really possessive of the other America at first, over time, he became more and obsessed with his original America as he began to realize just how different the world he'd found himself in was from his own.

Oliver, who had lost his memories of his former life and adopted Arthur's, faced a different problem. As he had become pretty much the new Arthur, his focus shifted from Canada to America, and he was pretty much just as miserable as before.

The switch this story focuses on is actually the second switch the two England's have experienced.

The Chocolate Bunny switched them the second time because, well, he was bored again. Additionally, Arthur wanted back anyway, and Chocolate Bunny was curious to see what he would do.

I hope that cleared some things up. If not, then I don't really know what to tell you.

Now, on to the actual story.

P.S. Sorry short boring chapter is short. I've been a little stressed lately.

* * *

"I've never really told anyone about this before," Began Canada.

"It happened… Not that long ago, actually. Maybe a year or two before now."

Mathew was close enough that a strand of his hair was tickling Alfred's nose.

America briefly mistook him for a kitten, before snapping himself back to reality.

That was completely random and this was NOT THE TIME to be dreaming about petting cats.

Even now, he still felt on the verge of passing out, but he forced himself to listen to the best of his ability.

God, just what had England fed him, anyway?

"At first, I wasn't sure it had even happened," he continued, fairly oblivious to America's internal struggle to concentrate.

"I mean, a _talking rabbit_ just appeared out of nowhere. And it even had wings! I know you probably don't believe me, but…"

America nodded, thinking, in his current state of mind, that such a thing made perfect sense.

"But, that's what I saw. If it weren't for this… most recent turn of events, I might still think it was only a dream. Now…"

He breathed, shifting slightly from where he leaned against his brother.

"I'm not exactly sure what to think. Listen America,"

He said, voice taking on an unusually hard edge.

"I'm only going to say this because I think it's important for you to understand."

"Mhm-hm," America consented.

"It came on a day when I was feeling a bit more depressed than usual. I know it must sound silly. I mean, it's not like everyone ignores me _all_ the time. You don't- even if you _do_ get my name wrong, now and then," He added.

"Whaddya mean, Canadia?"

Canada decided to ignore that.

"So, anyway. I was just feeling a little down in the dumps. Then this brown rabbit appeared. Where I'm trying to go with this is… Well, there's this other world."

"Like some sort of Star Trek 'Mirror, Mirror' shit?" Asked Alfred.

"…As far as I can tell, yeah. It's like ours, but also different. It told me that there was this other Canada that just wanted to be left alone, or something, and that he came from a world where I was actually… Important, I guess."

"Dude, you're already important," objected America.

"I mean, without you, like, there'd be no Maple syrup or-"

Though he couldn't see it, Alfred could practically feel Mathew's glare.

"Okay, enough joking around. Other world, right? Got it. Continue," he said, with a small wave of his hand.

"The point it, he offered to let me 'switch places' with him, somehow. He claimed that it would be the best way for us to both get what we wanted- but I refused. He looked a bit upset, but left me alone, after that. I thought that was the end of it, but ever since then I've… Been having dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

Alfred asked.

"Their about the other world, I think. I sort of get these flashes. Some of them are familiar, but… different at the same time. Like I said, I never really took them seriously until now."

"And why's that? I mean, what's different?"

Canada sighed.

"What's different, America, is that England has drugged us and locked us in his basement. With cupcakes," he specified, as an afterthought.

"The cupcakes are important."

"The cupcakes?"

America thought back to before he'd passed out.

That's right.

That _was_ when things had really started to get weird.

"Yes. I've seen them in my dreams… More specifically, my nightmares," He said, and America could feel brief shiver pass through his brother's body.

"The other England in the other universe. He uses them for… Things kind of like this, but usually worse," he explained, weakly.

"Wait…"

Said America, his fuzzy brain finally starting to connect the dots.

"So you're trying to tell me that the England that did this isn't the same England we know and tolerate?"

"That, or maybe he's just gone crazy. Or maybe we all have."

 _Huh,_ thought America.

That would… actually make a lot of sense.

The alternate Universe thing, not the 'we might be crazy' part.

"But how does this actually help us?"

He said, the full reality of his situation slowly beginning to sink in.

"We're still trapped in some England's basement… Wait, is the door locked?"

He asked, the thought only just then occurring to him.

"Of course it is. Besides, I've already checked."

"…Right. Well, I'm out of ideas," he said, shrugging.

Given the situation, he felt strangely calm.

He guessed it was probably an aftereffect of whatever the crazy alternate England had drugged him with.

They were both quiet, for a little while.

Then,

"I'm sorry, America."

"What for?"

"All of this. I should have noticed. I should have warned you, but I-"

"Dude, it's fine," said America, quickly.

"No use beating yourself up over it. Besides, we'll find a way out of here. Just leave it to me."

Canada couldn't see it, but his face was cast in a confident grin.

"And how exactly plan to do _that_?"

Asked Canada, with a touch skepticism.

"I have no idea," he admitted, a bit to casually.

"But don't sweat it, bro. I'll figure something out. After all, the hero always comes through in the end."


	16. Chapter 16: Negotiations

Author's note: I know it's been a while, by my standards, but I've been feeling kind of sick. Sorry. I think I'll probably be taking it slower from here on out.

England wasn't quite sure what he thought. In fact, he was making a point of not thinking any more than he had to.

He was overwhelmed, plain and simple.

It was true that the mind of a country was built stronger than that of a human. A couple centuries he could take. A thousand years more would have meant nothing.

But this? This was too much.

Two histories- deceptively similar, in parts, but starkly contrasting in most. Two complimentary, yet completely contradictory stories.

Two Englands. He was two Englands, now.

Twice the person he'd ever been.

Twice the sinner.

While Oliver's world might have appeared more blatantly Dystopian, it's reflection was far from perfect. Neither of them could be considered innocent. Every country had its regrets.

Oliver was horrible. There was no denying that.

But even he wasn't irredeemable. At least, he hoped he wasn't.

Arthur, on the other hand…

From the way Mint had described it, he wasn't exactly making a 'smooth transition' back into his old life.

 _Arthur… Oliver …_

England shook his head in frustration.

He might just have to start calling the both of them 'thing one, and thing two' for convenience's sake.

No matter how he looked at it, he still felt more like Arthur.

And, from the sound of it, England no.1, presently, fancied himself more of an 'Oliver' character.

"Ugh…"

He groaned, scowling at the ground.

 _Why did things have to become so darned complicated?_

Also worrying was the fact that this world had managed to twist England no.1 into someone that… well, was quite like his former self, actually.

That didn't bode well for him at all, if he was to remain stuck there.

 _The world that drove the original Arthur mad…_

Yep. He needed to leave as soon as possible.

That much was certain.

Alan's face flashed before his eyes at the thought, unbidden, causing him a brief pain of guilt.

…Even if it meant abandoning _him._

He tried to justify his decision by telling himself that, ultimately, it was for the best.

It was England no.1 that this America truly cared for- not him. All he'd ever done was push him to the side.

He'd owned him for the sake of it, nothing more. He'd never thought of him as a person, never treasured him as a brother or son.

He'd simply been his possession. A trophy. That was it.

 _Canada._

That was his name. He remembered it now.

What a fool he'd been, both here and there.

Never cherishing what was right in front of him, always pining after what would never, _could never_ , be his.

If one good thing had come from this experience, it was his newfound appreciation for what he had previously taken for granted.

With that taken into consideration, he resolved to give the both of them a good long hug when if made it back. _When_ he made it back.

He would see the other world again. Of this, he had already convinced himself.

The hard part was what came after.

The details were still fuzzy. Once Mint Bunny got the other rabbit to show himself, he planned to wing it from there.

Though he had a general idea of what he was trying to do- 'general', in this case, being the key word- he still couldn't be certain that the rabbit would take the bait.

Drawing upon a combination of his own experiences, and what he'd heard from Mint bunny, he'd constructed what he hoped was a fairly accurate model of the rabbit's personality.

He tried to remind himself that he was no stranger in dealing with those sorts of people.

His world- world no. 2, he decided- was chock-full of them.

By 'them', of course, he meant the type of person that sought the majority of their amusement in other people's suffering.

Assuming the rabbit had done all this purely for the sake of it's own entertainment, than it probably didn't really didn't care what became of him. He was simply a means to an end. They both were.

Hopefully, he could use that to his advantage.

England no.1 had already gotten a turn to have his fun, after all.

Heck, for all he knew, he might have been the one who originally proposed this scenario to chocolate Bunny in the first place.

Whatever the case, he'd decided it was high time he made a little suggestion of his own.

Just then, Mint Bunny appeared with a 'pop', putting an end that particular train of thought.

"Well?"

Asked England, anxiously.

He didn't have to wait long for an answer when, no more than a second later, a second rabbit materialized beside him.

"You called, Oliver?"

So he knew, then; that he'd got his memories back.

Had he been watching this whole time?

Mint Bunny scooted a little to the left, trying to put some space between him and the other. He looked almost as nervous as England felt.

The brown rabbit looked suitably amused, which was only to be expected.

Even so, England felt a spark of anger ignite within him.

 _If it wasn't for that… that jerk…_

England balled his hands into tight fists, willing the feeling to grow stronger. With any luck, it'd manage to undermine some of his fear.

Outwardly, he nodded curtly.

"As Mint Bunny's likely already informed you, I'd like to make a proposition," he began, trying to keep an even tone.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"First off," England replied,

"Allow me to point out that this game of yours is terribly unfair."

"Is it now?"

It questioned, smirk never wavering.

"To put it simply, I had an obvious disadvantage from the very start. Admittedly," he added, before the rabbit could point it out,

"I did have a hand in bringing this upon myself. But you aren't entirely underserving of blame either, Chocolate Bunny. Last time, you at least had the decency to ask the both of us agree to your terms before taking any action that would irrevocably change our lives. This time around, there was no such precedent."

"You might have a point there," said the bunny.

"But so what?"

"I was getting to that. My guess is that either you did this on a whim, or the original Arthur had a hand in this. If the latter is that case, then the odds were against me from the very start. As it stands now, I very well might not last another day here. What I propose is simple," continued England, folding his arms.

Mint Bunny's eyes darted back and forth between the two worriedly as he watched, silently, from a short distance away.

"Seeing as you asked nicely the first time, I'm to assume you have at least some vague semblance of something like a moral code. And, because you seem to so enjoy watching our lives fall apart, I can only conclude that your doing this… for _fun_ ," he finished, through gritted teeth.

There was really no use hiding it. The rabbit actually seemed to be enjoying his anger.

 _Good. All the better._

"If you fulfill my request, I'll call it even. Consider it compensation. Besides, isn't it more entertaining if I actually have a fighting chance? As it stands, isn't the outcome obvious? Allow me to even the playing field a bit."

"What exactly would you have me do?"

It asked, a hint of genuine curiosity entering its voice.

 _…And now for the risky part._

"Mint Bunny informed me that the universes might not collapse immediately if we were to both be present on the same plane. Is this correct?"

"…Perhaps," it answered, growing pensive.

"Then all I ask is a chance to persuade him to return, in person, before it does."

"You're willing to bet the fate of the world on this?"

It asked, slightly bemused.

"If you think I'm cutting it to close, you can send me right back. All I ask for is one chance," England stated, resolutely.

"…And you really think you'll get him to change his mind, just like that."

It was easy to pick out the hint of skepticism behind its black eyes.

"If I can't, I could always incapacitate him. Can't that be an option?"

Suggested England, bluntly.

"Hm. I like the way you think," it conceded, grin turning devious.

"Fine. I'll agree to your terms. If your 'negotiations' miraculously fail to reach a satisfactory conclusion for both parties, than whomever ki- _knocks out_ ," he corrected, as if only then remembering that, for personifications, that wasn't as nearly a viable option as he might have liked.

"Whoever knocks out the other first wins and gets to decide where they get to stay, in which form their choosing. And, if neither of the former are accomplished before an indeterminate amount of time, then your positions will be set back to default. Deal?"

"Deal," agreed England, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

Finally, he was getting somewhere.

"So, when do we leave?"

"In the interest of all fairness, of which you seem to be incredibly fond, I'd like the chance to inform Arthur of our conditions."

"…Fine."

 _Well, there goes the element of surprise._

Though he might have said 'persuade' he hadn't doubted for a moment that force would've comprised some element of the equation.

"Just try to make it quick."

He _really_ didn't want t stand there, out in the open, for longer than he absolutely had to.


	17. Chapter 17: Preparations

England leaned against the wall, listening as the rabbit informed him of his other's little wager.

That man… He should have known he couldn't be trusted. How naive he had been to think he'd have welcomed the restoration of his rightful place as he had.

The two of them were very different, indeed. Though the worlds were linked, and it was easy to draw parallels, there was no ignoring the vast discrepancies between both them and their inhabitants.

He'd thought he'd known Oliver, when, in reality, he had only known himself.

No. Even that was uncertain. He had lost sight of himself a long, long time ago, after all.

What was he, anyway?

Sometimes, he wondered.

What was it that made a being, such as himself?

He was naught but the collective sum of millions of others, both living and dead, both here and there.

Truly, if one was to think of it that way, he couldn't be held accountable for what he'd done, or what he'd do from then on.

America couldn't be blamed, either. He hadn't wanted to leave him, he was sure. Deep down, he must have known it was wrong. But that part had been overwhelmed, devoured alive by the treacherous masses.

If it hadn't been for them, he would have been his- for now, and forever.

He didn't need his people. What he needed was Alfred.

He wouldn't let him go, not this time. Neither of them. He had big plans for this world, all of which were inextricably linked to his most beloved.

If anything else, he wasn't going to let anyone touch his children. Not even England.

"Thank you, Chocolate Bunny," he interjected.

"Don't fret. I'll bring a quick end to this little predicament."

"You know that won't be easy, right?"

Warned the rabbit, perching on his shoulder.

"He's not exactly a stranger to your methods."

"Hmm… Then I guess I'll just have to mix things up a bit, won't I? If you stop to think about it, it's clear I posses an obvious advantage."

"And that would be…?"

Questioned the rabbit, humouring him.

"Why hostages, of course!"

Said England, with a clap of his hands.

"You'd really hurt them?"

"Of course not," he answered, a small, devious glint alighting in his eyes.

"But then, Oliver isn't certain of that, is he?"

"…You really are shameless, aren't you?"

The rabbit sounded almost impressed.

England just laughed.

The other knew as well as he that there were ways to make an immortal scream for death.

* * *

"Think we could break it down if we both pushed hard enough?"

America ran a hand across the door's cold, metallic surface.

"I highly doubt it," came a soft voice, from a ways behind him.

"This England appears to know a lot more about this world than he should. Considering he's taken the both of us captive, he's probably already considered your outlandish strength."

America gave an experimental push all the same.

Canada sighed.

"…I wonder if he's been getting visions to," he muttered, mostly to himself.

He couldn't help but speculate. It was true that there were plenty of ways he could have learned more about this world easily, even from the confines of England's own home. Even so, Canada couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that there might be something deeper at play.

While America went off to search for some fault in the stone walls, Canada had taken to feeling his way through some of objects scattered around the room, searching for anything that might be useful.

While the basement certainly felt desolate, it as far from empty.

That was good. There might be something that could be used as a makeshift weapon, just in case. Heavens knew this England seemed to have a couple screws loose. Who knew what he intended to do with them?

So far, he hadn't had much luck.

He'd found some half melted candles, but what in the world was he supposed to do with those? He tossed them aside. They joined the quickly growing pile he'd mentally labeled as 'useless junk that England probably should have thrown out ages ago'.

Still, despite his frustration, he refused to give up. While America might often steal the spotlight, Canada wasn't one to sit idly by while his brother worked to save them.

Unfortunately, both their valiant efforts were brought to an abrupt stop with the 'click' of the lock.

* * *

In retrospect, it would have been smarter to store the both of them in separate areas. Two nations were a far more formidable force than one, after all.

It was also worth considering the other advantages such an arrangement might have presented. For example, if both had indeed been held in different locations, he might have found use in threatening to torture the other, in order to keep them both in line.

He could use toxic gas, maybe. Yes, that would have been an easy, non-confrontational method by which to inflict some minor suffering. No permanent damage- just enough to put them in their place.

Unfortunately, England didn't have that luxury.

In the whole house, there was only one room he'd deemed fit for a prison. Thus, he'd been forced to make due.

Normally, this might make retrieving one of the prisoners difficult. Fortunately, England was quick. He'd also brought a pistol, just in case.

While not fatal, a wound to the head was a surefire way to knock a country out for a good while.

It wasn't the cleanest, and it certainly wasn't ideal. But if England was anything, it was adaptable.

As cheap as it was, it would be his trump card.

As for his other, he couldn't discount the possibility that he would also come prepared. In that case, it would do him well to make proper use of his hostages.

Besides, it was so much more fun this way. Surely Chocolate bunny would agree.

* * *

Author's note: To anyone who's wondering, the England that imprisoned Canada and America isn't very concerned whether or not they immediately take a liking to him. In case you didn't notice, he's a bit mentally unstable, and thus, not really thinking clearly. Additionally, he's more concerned with simply possessing them at this point. Establishing a loving relationship that works both ways comes second.


	18. Chapter 18: Interlude

How the pieces were falling into place. These creatures were interesting, if not unpredictable. It _was_ pretty hard to be surprised by anything when you understood that, somewhere, every possibility would manifest as a reality. Even so, he preferred not to think on it. It was much more exciting just to tag along for the ride.

The countries had yet to notice, in this plain. That was understandable. In reality, they hadn't been gone that long at all. It would likely be a while yet before they noticed.

Last time, Japan had been the first to realize anything was amiss- and all because he had come to return a horror movie America had left at his place last time he'd visited. It was funny, wasn't it, how something so small could change absolutely everything?

There was no 'one future'. Rather, there were multiple futures, all coexisting at once. That was where other worlds came from. It was like one big tree, an infinity of outcomes each stemming from the same point of origin, each branch sprouting a multitude of new offshoots with every choice someone made. It was incomprehensibly complicated; even Chocolate hadn't bothered to try to understand it in its entirety.

For now, he was refraining from peeking at all, if he could. There were no doubt other realities in which a similar scenario was already drawing closer to its conclusion. However, from there on, he wanted to remain as blind as possible.

All that was left now was to wait, and watch their fates unravel as they would. He'd stick with one path as well as he could, and save any backtracking for later.

He'd already observed a fair number of iterations near the beginning. How tragic it was that so few of the game's other contestants he'd seen had made it so far as this particular pair. After all, it would only take one little slip up…

He took a moment to relish the thought, before breaking into a grimace.

That fool Mint Bunny would never understand. It had seemed like such a novel idea at the time, but, in the end, he'd proven to be nothing more than a nuisance. To be fair, though, he had to hand it to him… If he hadn't interfered when he had, things might have never taken such an interesting turn.

"Hmm…"

He grunted, shaking his head.

 _Someday, Chocolate. Someday all this screwin' with things that shouldn't be messed with is gonna catch up to you._

He could only hope that day wouldn't be today. If things backfired this time, there would be no escaping. For once, by all accounts, the disaster would be transcendent. Unavoidable.

He could only wait, and let whatever was to come come. It wasn't to late to stop it- he was a necessary part of the equation.

He was a being beyond confinement, a glitch in the metaphorical system. As it stood, though he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

And if the events he'd already set into motion were to spell that end of everything, as he knew it, well…

At least it wasn't anything less than he deserved, he supposed. The only reason it hadn't happened before was because it couldn't, not without him. And, unlike anything else, there was only one chocolate.

Even he, the closest thing the worlds had to a god, didn't claim to understand everything. Regardless, he couldn't shake the feeling that the chances of reality imploding on itself after this were close to one hundred percent.

But hey- anything was possible. Might as well see it through.

* * *

Mint Bunny wasn't prepared to lose, it seemed. Chocolate couldn't help but want to scoff at his ridiculous efforts. Surely, he knew as well as he that the outcome didn't matter- not really.

All the same, he appeared genuinely determined to help his 'friend', as he had referred to him.

He flitted from here to there, searching for anything that might come in handy, even while being reluctant to leave England's side for longer than he had to. He couldn't leave for more than ten seconds without checking back in to make sure that yes, he was still there.

Chocolate rolled his eyes. While he fears might not have been entirely unfounded, surely this was a bit excessive.

The other was right, it seemed. He wouldn't be returning empty handed- not if old Minty had anything to say about it. Why, if they existed there, he hardly doubted he wouldn't try to give him a rocket launcher or something.

The poor rabbit could have just phased back into the other world, if his previous passage hadn't taken so much out of him. It was just another reminder that, for all there similarities, Mint was still the inferior half.

As it was, it looked like a musket would have to do. It wasn't that primitive, all things considered, and it wasn't like England didn't know how to use it. Given the close range, it should even the odds considerable. It wasn't even technically stealing, as he _did_ take it from England's own house…

Guns, though. It just had to be guns, didn't it? It almost felt like cheating. True, they were all the rage these days, but still- it could be over so quick. Somehow it felt… Anticlimactic.

He'd have to do something to rectify that- on both ends, of course. He wasn't about to pick favorites again. He wanted each side to at least have a fair chance.

He chose to ignore that such an intervention would spell an obvious disadvantage for the other. The way he figured it, it balanced out well enough, considering that he'd been so biased towards Oliver in the begging. Besides that, it could lend the opportunity for the others to participate as well.

Now that might make for an interesting show.

Speaking of shows, the earlier incident had this world's representations scrambling about like headless chickens. If they were going to do this, they'd better leave soon, lest someone else get the bright idea to search the streets.

They should really be thankful that it took everyone a while simply to get over the 'magical talking flying green rabbit part'. Evidently, no one around here was used to dealing with magic. Otherwise, they might have actually done something by then.

America had already stormed out the door. Guess the boy got antsy staying in one place for to long. Either that, or he was simply fed up with all the bickering.

Either way, while he wasn't in the immediate proximity, it wasn't impossible he'd run in to them if they waited in the same place long enough- especially given his tendency towards taking detours into secluded areas when he was upset.

There was really no reason to put it off any longer, then. Both sides were as ready as they'd ever be. Wait any more, and things might get messy.

If he was going to do this, he had to do it now.

…Better tell him, then. As fun as it might be to drop him there without warning, it would kind of undermine everything he had planned.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's note:

Hello people. I'm sorry it's been a long time. There are a number of reasons as to why I haven't been updating.

Firstly, I've become increasingly uncomfortable with writing Hetalia fanfiction. I know the characters, sure, but I doubt I know enough about the countries themselves to create a decent portrayal of their personifications. I'm absolutely terrified of possibly offending somebody. It's just…. So awkward, and I doubt really have the time to do in depth research on all these different cultures and governments. Currently, I have no idea what I'm talking about. In conclusion, I'll probably be laying off the Hetalia fanfiction for a while; maybe write some stories about actual fictional individuals.

Secondly, as I mentioned in my character profile, I suffer from a pretty bad case of social anxiety. Truth be told, every chapter I post is pure terror. It's gotten to the point where It's hard to sleep, for fear of what people think of my story, my brain fixating on and replaying every minute detail over and over as I lie awake in bed.

Lastly, It really wasn't that good, in my opinion. Honestly, I have no idea where I was trying to go with this. There was no planning. I just wrote whatever popped into my head, with only the vaguest Idea of what I was trying to accomplish.

I would be lying if I said I don't have, by this point, an ending in mind. However, my confidence in my ability to pull it off in any satisfying way is severely lacking.

I thought just stopping would help, but so far, it hasn't. If anything, it's made it worse. No, I need some sort of closure. I can't stand the thought of just abandoning people without saying a word.

That brings us to now. I finally worked up the courage to tell my brother the title of my story. We came to the agreement that if I let him read it, he would finish the story for me. I spent the rest of the day hiding in the basement, waiting for the final chapter to appear in my in-box.

Ladies, gentlemen, and those of indeterminate gender, I present to you the final chapter of 'Switched' (courtesy of my brother).

(I would have posted this a week earlier if it weren't for a badly timed power outage '-.-)

Both Arthur and Oliver strode across the room. They met in the center and sat down across from each other on the table that was set for them. There was no way out until a conclusion was made.

 _This will be fun_

'It is marvelous to finally meet you Oliver; I wanted to thank you for leaving those diaries about your life! They made fitting in a breeze.'

Oliver gritted his teeth in contemplation. If he were to make his move correctly, he would need to learn and manipulate Arthur's move quickly before his chance slipped away. If he failed now, he wouldn't be able to recover his life, and surely perish in his own world.

'You know what I propose'

'A re-swap, wasn't it?'

With a curt nod from Oliver Arthur's ever-present smile only deepened.

'We must switch back, or we will both surely perish'

'I have no doubt you will perish, but I know my way around my world. A smile here, a cup of tea here. Everyone will adore you! Or me as it is.'

'I know how America loves you, are you just going to leave him alone? When I die in my world, he will doubt be just as crushed. You are condemning him the worst fate imaginable.'

With this Oliver smiled. He could see Arthur start leaning his way with a look of unease. But that was gone soon enough, and replaced by the smile.

'Life is full of disappointments, us British should know this after all.'

Oliver had gotten in the most important piece of his plan. And Arthur had acted just as he planned. Even as psychotic as Arthur was, he was still a kid at heart, and with the feeling of losing someone he knew as family, he nearly broke. Now that worm of doubt was festering in his conscious, just waiting to break out.

And it was time for Oliver to help it along.

'Alf will be drove to near insanity by the looks of how much he depends on us. Without one of us to be there for him, he will slowly drive into a deep insanity. First it will be him, then his country will be affected, then it will all fall apart. Anarchy at the worst degree most likely.'

Oliver frowned

Arthur wasn't reacting the way he had anticipated, something was wrong.

Instead of more doubt, Arthur seemed to be getting more assured this was the right thing.

'That America is a quite a psychopath, along with that world. If things fall, it is for the better. In fact, they deserve worse than this. '

Every single sentence was chock full of stinging optimism, almost like talking about a lover, or a great ambition. Thing definitely were falling apart, Oliver decided to result to plan B.

_-_-_-_Line Break_-_-_-_

Oliver was a fool. Playing right into Arthur's ploy. He new that Oliver had been thorough in his research into his world and his relationship with America. And knew that would mostly be his plan in getting him to stay. But Arthur was no fool. He worked it into his plan.

 _Shame, I could really use a cup of tea to enjoy while this plays out._

This was exciting! With Chocolates ability of ESP, the thought process was rapid and invigorating. Chocolate could feel Oliver losing grip on the situation even now, just as he thought it would. A little disappointingly expected sadly.

Never less, things were invigorating, and he couldn't wait to see what was next.

_-_-_-_Line Break_-_-_-_

It was time

'I am sorry Oliver, but the time has come for me to take my leave. It has been a fantastic time catching up with you but I am on a tight schedule and must sadly take my leave.'

Time to act fast

In seconds we both were pointing firearms at another

One of us was going to die, and the other would get their rightful place back.

That's when Oliver realized Chocolate bunny's smile.

He must have warned Arthur about the firearm, but if he had a gun this whole time, why wait until now?

That's when the plane formed.

Arthur's plan was insane, but he needed this time for it to work!

If Oliver doesn't act fast then Arthur will escape, and ruin it all.

'I apologize but I have somewhere to be'

Then the sound of bullets leaving guns, and Oliver was on the ground.

Oliver's old musket wasn't fast enough to keep up with modern firearms, and the duel was over. But Oliver had one last way to stop Arthur.

'Would you so kindly proceed chocolate? I would like nothing more then for this to end.'

And with a smile and a wave, chocolate and Arthur were gone.

'Mint…'

Oliver was dying

A bullet had punctured a lung, and although a bullet wasn't enough to kill a country in the real world, in the inter-dimensional place they had chosen to meet, it was quite enough to kill him.

'This place….. Its reality is weak from the strain of me and Arthur being here.

We…. Should be able to bend reality…."

Oliver was wheezing badly

 _One… more…. task…_

'If … we can go back and in time to when Arthur made the deal with chocolate, maybe we can wipe his mind as well like mine, and prevent this from happening'

Mint's eyes were tearing up at the pain of his friend, but if they stopped this, he may be all right,

'I can try Oliver. Here we go'

_-_-_-_Line Break_-_-_-_

The events of the last 300 years went past Oliver's eyes

Everything from the invention of the television to the fall of Hitler.

And then he saw Arthur.

They came just before Arthur made the deal with chocolate, and they looked nearly exactly the same. No slight rosy tint to the hair, no pink clothes, just plain old clothes and hair. And it would stay this way if he succeeded.

With the last of his strength, he whacked Arthur over the head, and dragged him into the bushes. With almost no life left in him, it took only the willpower of a country to make the deal. And then it was done, and Oliver died.

_-_-_-_Line Break_-_-_-_

An uncharacteristic grimness overtook Oliver's features that morning. Only it wasn't Oliver, not really.

The day had begun the same as any other. The morning had seen Arthur to a freshly printed newspaper and a calming cup of tea. Arthur had made himself comfortable in an old but well made patio chair overlooking his immaculately kept rose garden, his cup and scones resting on the little round table beside him.

And there you have it. I certainly hope my brother did an adequate job.

I'm not even going to even bother trying to explain what my original ending entailed. I considered it, but in the end, thought better of it. It was stupid- just take my word on it.

Maybe I'll see you nice people again in the comments of some other fanfic, or maybe not. So, for now, I bid you farewell.

P.S. If I do decide to finish this story myself, It'll probably only be after I rewrite the entire thing, top to bottom. Fix it up so it's, you know, less meandering and pointless.


End file.
